


Ring Around the Rosey

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013), Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Renaissance Faire, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean might actually enjoy the Renaissance Faire if it weren't for the damn witches ... but when a witch casts a spell and a leather-clad hunter right out of a fairy tale lands in his lap, Dean just might get lucky.</p><p>Katya wanted  hot guys in medieval outfits and lots of leather with confident Dean on top and shy Hansel. This is what she got.</p><p>Seriously AU SPN:  This is the young Dean & Sam .... Sam never died, Dean never went to hell, and Dean may actually smile and laugh in the story. Just a fair warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

“You will be mine.”

Her hair crackled with energy, blonde tresses floating in the air, blue sparks shooting between the ends; her fingers were extended, the spell dancing along the edges and spilling out of the long blood red nails. Dark black veins marred her once porcelain skin as the magic took her, consuming her energy for the spell she was weaving.

“Over my dead body.”

He held his ground, sacrificial knife in his hand, standing between her and the sobbing child. No more, he thought, there would be no more death, no more mourning parents. The witch was going to pay for the destruction she’d left in this small, once peaceful town.

“Oh, darling, why would I want you dead? I have a much bigger plan for you.”

A sphere of light grew, bobbing in her palm and a chill settled over him; he hoped he’d bought enough time for his sister to save the girl and to lay down the protective runes.  With an evil laugh, the witch spun the globe, its sinister light throwing her face into shadowy relief.

“Your plans are done, bitch. We’re taking you down.”

“Hardly, Hansel. I’m just getting started.”

With a flick of her wrist, she threw the magic at him. He tried to dodge, but it expanded as it came, overtaking him before he could take more than a step to escape.  Pain engulfed him, lightning shimmering down his body. Blinding white light, followed by a kaleidoscope of colors behind his eyelids, and he slammed hard into something unmovable. Then all was dark.

* * *

“Dude! I so rock this look.” Dean did a little spin, showing off his costume.  “Look, laces. Authentic as hell.”

Sam would never admit it, but Dean knew he looked pretty good in the medieval get-up. The leather of the pants was buttery soft and worn – thank heavens for used clothing stores – and the leather vest was buckled tight around his linen shirt, wide belt tied off and sword hanging on his hip.

“Where did you get that chain mail? It looks real.” Sam reached out a hand and felt the cold steel ringlets, tightly interwoven sitting on Dean’s shoulders and upper chest.

“Handmade by the best blacksmith at the faire,” Dean fairly crowed. “It’s a loaner ‘cause he liked me. You should have seen him Sam; he could make a living doing porno with that chest and long hair.” And he’d managed to get the guy’s number too along with the sword and mail. Plus the one of the busty beauty who helped him pick out the leather. She’d talked him into the worn brown boots that fit so comfortably he might just have to keep them.

“Good god, Dean. You ever going to grow out of your omnivorous stage?” Sam shook his head in disgust. Sammy was a one woman man, and those women were few and far between; Dean gave his little brother grief about his monogamy streak. But there were just too many sexy people in the world to not partake of what was freely offered.

“When I’m old and can’t get it up anymore. But until then,” he stopped to look at a tavern wench strolling by with cups of beer to sell, her ample breasts on display in a low cut pirate shirt, “I’m going to enjoy myself. Maybe you should learn to do the same.”

“You know she could be one of them.” Sam scanned the crowded row between the stalls, the press of people. Every age was out at this time of the afternoon; families with screaming children in tow fought for space beside young punks with low riders and knights in tabards. “We don’t know who anyone really is.”

“Exactly. What better way to get information than to chat up the locals? I’ve got a date for a drink with the shop girl later and a maybe for dinner with the blacksmith. He’s a regular at these things, travels the country to sell his stuff. Makes a pretty good living that way. He’ll know the regulars from the newcomers.” Just the thought of the coven they were hunting made his good mood evaporate. He hated witches almost as much as he hated demons. Freakin’ bitches with their hex bags and petty jealousies that ended up with dead innocents. He might enjoy poking at Sam, but his flirting had been part of his plan from the start; infiltrate and learn.

Sam gave him an appreciative look. “That makes sense. I thought I might hit up the areas kids are likely to go to see if we can find a pattern. The faire is only here for two more days; we need to figure this out before they pack up and move on to the next town.”

Over seven children had gone missing in different states in the last two months. They’d been on the trail since the fifth child; the clues led right to the conclusion that witchcraft was at work. The body of the fourth kid, a cute little blonde 8-year-old, was found with the symbols painted on her still evident, despite being dumped in a wooded area. A random hiker had stumbled upon her just hours after she’d been left. But they hadn’t made the connection to the Virginia Renaissance Faire until after it was already closed, the participants moving on to other states. By the time they’d tracked the various threads, two more kids were already missing – and the commonality was the Pennsylvania Renaissance Festival in New Stanton, PA.  The plan was simple; Sam was in his best fed suit, investigating the disappearances with the story that an amber alert had been issued for a child abduction across state lines. Dean was going native, blending in as one of the performers in the tournament; thanks to Charlie’s connections in the SCA and LARPing communities, Dean was a mechanic who had just moved here from California.

“Agreed,” Dean’s tone changed completely as he caught sight of the approaching figure. “And that’s all I can tell you about it. I wish I knew more and could help, I mean kids and all? That’s sad, man. I hope you find the bastards who did it.”

“There you are, Sir Fredrick!” Lord Castellan, aka Roy Montgomery, owner of a local chain of pizza parlors, strode up to them. “I see you’ve met Agent Deacon. Any luck so far?”

Montgomery was a large man, and he was sweating in the afternoon heat, decked out in a velvet robe with an embroidered stole and heavy gold chain of office (it was fake; Dean could see where the gold plating had rubbed off from wear around the man’s neck). As the executive director of the RenFaire, as it was called, Montgomery’s job was to run the day-to-day operations; unlike the King and Queen, ceremonial titles given to big donors, the Castellan’s job was to make this behemoth of an event come off with as few hitches as possible. And two disappearances was a big hitch; he’d doubled down on the sweat the minute Sam had flashed his badge this morning.

“Still following leads Mr. Montgomery. I’m off to the children’s area now.” With a nod, Sam took off at a good clip, his long legs eating up ground towards the happy forest part of the site.

“What did he ask you?” Montgomery hissed, wiping droplets from his forehead before they ran into his eyes. His blue velvet hat had dark wet spots all over it. “I mean, I’m so worried about this. If people hear about a kidnapping at the faire …”

“Nothing much, just if I’d seen anything odd or unusual. Can’t say I did since I just got here.” The man seemed awfully anxious, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was just the stress of the job or a sign of guilt.

“Right, yes,” he nodded absently. “Actually, I came to ask if you’d help out down at the tournament field. They’re having some problems with the sound system, and I thought I remembered you’d worked on that kind of electronics before? Damn thing is new, but it keeps fritzing in and out with tons of static.”

Dean knew jackshit about public announcement systems, but static and misbehaving electronics were right up his alley and probably a sign of magical activity. “Sure thing. I’ll wander on down and see what I can do. Sire,” he remembered to add.

The jousting field wasn’t far from the main food alley and shopping areas; the evening’s entertainments drew in large crowds, and Montgomery was smart enough to know people passing through good smells like roasting turkey or sugary cinnamon were more likely to stop and buy something. There were even shops that sold flags emblazed with the heraldry of the various jousters for fans to wave. The biggest draws were the bands though; tonight was a performance by Rising Gael, and the concert was sold out. Dean turned off the main track and headed around behind the grandstand towards the small concrete building hidden behind the fabric of a large tent. As he passed a small corpse of trees that served as a barrier between the patrons and the work areas, the smell of creosote made his eyes water, and a spark of blue static shot out from the entrance of the control room, bridging the space between it and the metal support strut of the bleachers, singeing the air with a crackle.

“Fuck,” Dean jumped back to avoid getting caught in the circuit of electricity, reaching a hand out to the wooden pole nearby to ground himself. He felt the pull of the air rushing into the building then the flash outward as a fireball engulfed the structure, showering bits of rubble in a large radius. Screams went up from the behind him as people heard and felt the explosion; even before the rain of concrete pieces stopped, he was running forward, looking for survivors. Little was left of the walls and the roof was entirely gone; circling he saw no movement inside or out until he walked a little way into the trees that crowded at the smoking back wall still half-intact.  A groan drew his attention; a black boot stuck out from a smoking … literally smoking … dark leather coat. Dropping to one knee, Dean turned the man over.

“Dude? You okay?” He ran his hand up the man’s neck; a weak pulse, but steady, beat there beneath a layer of soot and grime.  Dean took quick stock of the man’s condition; leather pants, leather vest … very authentic too, not some newbie then but a regular worker at the Faire … and an assortment of weapons. Huh. Dean leaned down to look at the shotgun still loosely held in the man’s left hand, the well-oiled and cared-for knife on his belt, and the definitely used crossbow on the ground beside him. Those weren’t new or for show; they bore all the marks of constant use.

 “What the fuck happened?” The man rasped out as a hand closed around Dean’s throat, constricting his air and holding him tight; blue-grey stormy eyes were open and staring at him with an angry glare. With a sharp arm movement, Dean broke the man’s hold, locked his fingers around the wrist just above the fingerless glove and dropped his other knee down on the man’s other hand, immobilizing the man.

“There was an explosion. You’ve been hurt; I’m just trying to help.” Dean argued. Then the sky tilted and Dean was on his back being straddled by a leather-clad Matrix reject, muzzle of that damn shotgun under his chin so tight he felt the vibration in his gut when the man cocked it. Two things went through his mind: first … that damn gun looked for the world like a giant penis. He was going to get his head blown off by a cock gun. And, second, this guy was freakin’ hot. Like, forget everything and fuck me now hot.

“Where is she? Where’s Cassandra?”

“Look, dude, you just got blown out of a burning building. I think maybe a few eggs got scrambled.” Dean spoke slowly and kept his hands still, not wanting to give the guy any reason to pull the trigger.  “I don’t know any Cassandra. Was she with you inside? ‘Cause if she was, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.”

“Where am I?” For the first time, he seemed to become aware of his surroundings; he’d ended up facing the fire, the destruction before him.  “It’s daytime.”

“Yeah, just a little after two in the afternoon. And you’re in Pennsylvania in the good old U. S. of A at the Renaissance Festival. Ring any bells?” It might take him a few minutes, but he could add, after all. The strange static disruptions, the blue electrical bolt before the explosion, and now this guy appearing out of seemingly nowhere? Magic. That’s what was going on.

Voices shouted, coming closer; the first responders were on the scene, coming to investigate. Soon, they’d be overrun with people. With a nod to himself, the man dropped the barrel to the ground. “I need to find my sister. There’s a dangerous witch on the loose, and this is probably her doing.”

Gobsmacked, Dean stared for a second. Cock gun, scorchingly hot (okay, even he knew that was a bad pun), and now witches? What were the odds?

“You’re a hunter.”

With ease, the man pushed up, his weight leaving Dean and, for a second, Dean missed it. He really needed to get laid; the hand in the shower just wasn’t cutting it lately.  Standing up, he tugged his leather jerkin down over his growing hard-on and offered his hand to the man who, after a moment’s hesitation, took it. Dean felt the familiar callouses of someone who used weapons and fought barehanded and the smooth leather of the glove, worn in all the right places.

“Dean Winchester. Also a hunter.” A man rounded the building, a hose in his hands, spray of water aimed at the structure. “But people around here think I’m Fredrick May.”

“Hansel.”

Dean blinked.

“Like Hansel & Gretel Hansel?” Dean couldn’t help but laugh.  Using rock star names wasn’t the greatest, but fairy tales?

“I see my reputation precedes me.” He flashed Dean a wicked grin. “And, believe me, I’m better than what you’ve heard.” The damn man winked at Dean. Winked. “I think we should get out of here before the constabulary show up.”

“If you mean we should beat feet before there are a lot of questions, I agree.”

* * *

 

Hansel tried to keep from staring at the people around him as he and Dean walked down the street of this odd town – a man talking into a small rectangle held to his ear, the woman rolling two children in some sort of small carriage, the young women with their arms and legs bare to the sun. So much was familiar, but most of it was slightly off. The outfits, for example. Not that Dean didn’t look … good … in those leather pants, but chain mail? Nobody wore chain mail in Hansel’s time. And the men dressed as knights roaming around mixed with people in the oddest clothes. None of it made sense. But then neither did Cassandra sending him here.

“Sir Fredrick!” Montgomery called from behind them; Hansel hid the shotgun under the coat folded over his arm as they turned to see the sweating man catching up to them. “I’m glad to see you’re alright. We couldn’t find you at the tournament grounds. What a mess. Electrical fire. At least we have a backup system since that breakdown a few years ago.” His eyes fell on Hansel.

“This is my friend … William. William Grimm. But he goes by the name of Hansel.”

“Hansel? As in Hansel and Gretel?” The man did a slow survey of Hansel’s clothes and body; he felt a shiver of distaste at the man’s obvious interest. Why the hell did everyone know their names?

“Yes, but I’m not a big fan of candy.” He saw Dean bite back a grin.

“Great outfit. Very realistic. Who made it?” The man had such a cavalier attitude towards the dead and destruction that had just occurred; he didn’t seem worried at all.

“My sister.” Telling the truth was often the easiest option.

“Oh, she’s good. She should have a stall here. I’d love a vest like that.” Before Hansel realized what he was doing, the man had a hand on his chest. His first impulse was to punch the son-of-a-bitch, but then he felt the weight of an arm around his shoulder and the whisper of breath against his cheek seconds before Dean’s face leaned towards his.

“Guess I wasn’t clear, Roy. William’s my partner.”  Warm lips brushed Hansel’s cheek, little tendrils of heat crawling under his skin from Dean’s feather light touch.

“Oh, um, well, of course. Didn’t mean to start anything, Fred. Didn’t realize you were gay.” Montgomery stepped back quickly, dropping his hand. “I better get on with the clean-up. Lots to do.” He practically scurried away.

 “Yeah, sorry about that. But hey, for what it’s worth, he didn’t hit on me at all. Must like dark-haired, short, muscle bound guys.” Dean was joking again, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

 “Short?” he asked when Dean’s arm slipped away. “And what is ‘gay’?”

“Guys who are into guys. Sexually.” Dean answered.

“You’re … gay?” Hansel was surprised at how openly people talked about it; he’d spent most of his life hiding the fact that women didn’t turn him on. Gretel always believed that it was his hatred for witches that made him avoid girls, but he knew it was just the way he had always been.

“Me? I’m into equal opportunity; man, woman, if I find them attractive, I’m open to the idea.” The damn man wiggled his eyebrows at that terrible double entendre. Holy hell, but Dean had just admitted to sleeping with men. And Hansel found that fact entirely too arousing to deal with – this whole adventure just kept getting more surreal.

“And you just talk about it? Tell people?” Hansel wondered aloud. “Aren’t you worried about the Church?”

Dean stopped and stared at him, a question in his eyes. Grabbing his arm, Dean dragged him between two stalls. “Okay, what the hell, man? The Church? What do you think this is, the 14th century?”

“More like the 18th. At least that’s what it was this morning when I woke up.”

“Shit.” Dean breathed, head hanging down for a second. “Shit. Only in my fucked up life. The real freaking Hansel shows up right out of the fairytale.”

A woman came down the small trail, heading into the back of the stalls; Dean smiled at her and winked, leaning into Hansel and bracing his hand on the wooden wall. With a knowing smile, she continued on her way, and the two men stayed that way, Dean’s face close to Hansel’s after she’d turned the corner.

“What the hell is a fairytale, and, more importantly, where the hell am I?” Hansel demanded.

“2009.” Dean was far too close for comfort, but he made no move to pull away, voice quiet between them. “How did you get here?”

“A witch’s spell. Gretel and I were hunting a coven that was kidnapping kids.” He saw the change immediately in Dean’s eyes, recognition and the steely determination of a true hunter.

“Seven kids so far; two from here. We think they’re using the faire to pick the victims.” Dean told him.

“There will be thirteen in all. That’s what they need to make the ritual work.” It was too much of a coincidence, him ending up here where the same exact thing was going on. Again.

“… and I told him to get the off the damn computer and pay attention to me or I was leaving.” The two women strolled into view, deep in conversation, blonde and brunette heads tilted toward each other. “Can you imagine? He prefers World of Warcraft to sex?”

Hansel’s blood ran cold at the familiar voice, words grating along his nerves.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be,” he murmured. Catching the edge of Dean’s mail, he pulled the other man towards him, lining their bodies so the Dean’s back blocked the women’s view; he brought those kissable lips to his, a light brush of the lower, fuller lip first and then firmer, tilting his head for a better angle to hide his face and body. Dean caught his breath, lips parting in surprise, and then he was taking control, pressing Hansel’s back into the wall, hand curling along Hansel’s neck, thumb running along his jawline.  His tongue invaded, nothing easy and gentle about it, demanding a reply; Hansel answered, tongues tangling together in a war of dominance that he wasn’t sure he wanted to win. Someone groaned, a deep sensual sound as mouths slanted and moved and broke apart and dived back in; with a start, he realized it had come from him when Dean’s teeth nipped at his lip, sucking it in.

“See? Why can’t he be romantic like that?” The woman continued to complain as she and her friend walked away. “Just once I want him to slam me up against a wall and kiss me like he means it ….”

They could stop now. Really. Hansel knew it with the rational part of his brain, but it wasn’t his brain in control right now, it was his very interested and very hard dick that made him want to fall back into Dean’s lips and keep kissing and discovering each other.

Dean was the one who finally pulled back, not far, but enough. “Yeah, I’m not sorry either, for the record. Now who were you avoiding?”

“Cassandra. The witch who sent me here.”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot and romantic leather clad sex, just as Katya ordered. Enjoy!

“So, um, you’ve never … I mean … you haven’t … seriously? Come on. At least a hand job? Blow job? No one but you touched your …”

“Do you have to talk about this here? And so loudly? We have work to do.” Hansel cut Dean off and ducked his head, his cheeks red from embarrassment; why the hell wouldn’t Dean shut up? It’s not like he’d had lots of opportunities; yes, there had been willing girls along the way, grateful for their rescue. If he’d been into that sort of thing, he’d been pretty damn experienced by now. But finding a guy who’d even admit to being interested, much less was willing to do anything about it? That wasn’t going to happen with the way they traveled from place to place, always on the trail of another witch. So he’d just handled it himself; what was wrong with that?

Dean grinned at him, completely aware of his change of topic, letting the man off the hook for the moment. “Fine. But we’re definitely taking this up later.”

It had all started after the kiss … the very hot, very distracting kiss. Dean immediately turned all business, trailing after the two women. When Dean returned, he knew their names and where they worked.  The whole time he was gone, Hansel waited, angry at that bitch Cassandra … and flustered from that be-damned kiss. He had been kissed before, but nothing like this that made him want to abandon the hunt and find a dark corner. He was musing about the whole situation when Dean jokingly said “Don’t worry; I’ll add you to my to-do list.” Hansel had stammered and blushed and, damn, the man knew. For the umpteenth time he wished Gretel was here; she’d laugh at him and tell him to deal with it.

“Okay, Sammy and I are going to recon Cassandra and the other woman, maybe i.d. some coven members.  But first I’m going to take you to the hotel.” He tossed Hansel a hooded cloak he’d brought back with him. “Last thing we need is her making you and running before we can get the kids.”

“Fine.” Dean had a point. Cassandra probably already knew he was here – his arrival was pretty loud as spells went -- and he didn’t want to tip their hand and spook her. What he wanted was to kill the bitch, but only after he found out how to get back to Gretel. Donning the cloak, he followed Dean out of the faire and into a field with row after row of metal contraptions, wagons without horses.  Dean stopped at a black one and opened the door; what the hell, Hansel thought as he slid into the seat, in for a penny. “Does this run on electricity?”

“You know about that?” Dean seemed surprised.

“We used machines. Saw a blacksmith who ran an engine with waterpower. Whatever we could use to fight the witches.” He didn’t jump when the machine roared to life, and he watched Dean maneuver it onto the road.  “Look, while you’re following her, I can do some research or put together hex bags if you have the components. Do you have books?”

Dean laughed. “You are so going to love the internet, dude. Brand new virgin territory for you.”

Hansel gave him a scorching look, but Dean only laughed.

* * *

 

Hot water from the ceiling. A toilet that flushed waste away. Water that ran from pipes and down a drain. A miraculous little silver box that could give him any information he wanted by just writing a few words.  A box in the wall that blasted cold air. And a thing called a TV that told stories in pictures.  He was completely impressed by the advances that made life better. Standing in the shower that Dean had shown him how to work, he remembered Dean’s rather pointed suggestion about sharing. As the hot water washed away the grime and soot from earlier, he let himself think about having Dean behind him, his hands slipping over Hansel’s body, down his hips, sliding around to touch his hard erection. He imagined his hand was Dean’s and he stroked his length, root to tip, moaning at the thought of green eyes and soft lips and …

A creak, then a quiet scuff – Hansel left the shower running to cover his movements as he dragged on his pants and grabbed his leather coat. Another slight bump, near the door; he waited, hand on the knob, until he thought he heard a sigh. Pushing out quickly, he rammed the door into the person on the other side, knocking him backwards. With a jab, he punched into the soft middle, knocking breath out, then grabbing a wrist and twisting; body slammed into the wall face first, as he bent the man’s arm across his back, leaning in to hold him in place.

“Dude! Chill. It’s me.” Dean complained. “Hair trigger much? This is my room, remember?”

Hansel held him. “Why sneak in on me?”

“I was going for the fridge to get beers. I brought dinner.”  White bags with colorful logos sat on the small table; his stomach rumbled at the smell. “Of course, if you’d rather play rough, I’m sure the food will heat up.”

Dropping his hold, he let Dean go. “I could eat. Been a long time since breakfast. What’s happening with Cassandra?” He walked over to the table and began rummaging in the bags. Everything was wrapped in paper for some reason, but he managed to find a sort of sandwich, and what looked like small sliced potatoes.  “What is this?” he asked after a tentative bite; he’d never tasted anything like it but he recognized beef and lettuce and tomatoes. He sank down on the edge of the bed with his food.

He had to look when Dean remained still and silent; he’d only know the man a little while, but that was long enough to understand that if Dean Winchester’s mouth was quiet, something was wrong.  Green eyes were staring at him, darkening with intensity as he looked Hansel over from wet hair down to bare feet.

“Good god, Hansel. The pants I understand; I’d stop to put mine on too. But the coat?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Damn. You look like something right out of a porno pirate movie.”

“The coat has warding layered over it. It can stop any number of spells.” He decided the sandwich was good. Or he was starving. Either way, he tucked into eating it.

“Porno, dude. You need a porno name if you’re going to sit there in that outfit.” Dean crossed the room and grabbed two beers from the small cooler, passing one to Hansel. “I know! Hans Stroker!”

“What is porno?” Hansel didn’t understand half of what Dean was talking about. Come to think of it, he shouldn’t be able to understand Dean at all; why was someone in the 21st Century speaking perfect 18th century German? Why was everyone speaking German and all the information on the … interweb?... in German?

“Pornography? Did people perform sex for entertainment in your time?” Dean’s look was positively wicked as he dropped that little bomb.

“Cassandra?” Hansel opted to ignore Dean, blushing again. Yes, he knew what Dean was talking about, and he didn’t want to spend any more time thinking about it with Dean sitting in a chair too close for comfort.

“Accounted for at the moment. She’s in the royal box right next to the queen. Sam’s got eyes on her for the whole show, at least three hours. He’ll call if she moves. She met with too many people to narrow down a list of possible suspects.”  Dean unwrapped and bit into his sandwich. “You find anything?”

“I found an old story about a witch who killed a baker’s dozen all to gain the, and I quote, “power of the ages, the fount of all magic.” No clue what that is. Damn spells, everything is riddles. It doesn’t make sense, though; the spell clearly calls for four groups of three and then a single final sacrifice. If they’ve taken 7, that should only be 1 from here.  Could you have missed any?” Hansel asked. “She drew from different towns in my time, far apart, so it was difficult to track her. People don’t always notice what’s going on in other places.”

“Could be. Easy enough to cross the border into Mexico or state lines.” Dean toed off his boots and propped his feet on the bed as he ate. “You think she’s further along than we originally suspected?”

“The final three plus one is supposed to happen on the ninth dark of the moon of the ninth year of the century. That’s tomorrow night.”

“Damn. That gives them less than a day to find, what, 6 more vics? Are you sure about this?” Dean didn’t seem convinced.

“Never said it made any sense.” Hansel watched as Dean wadded up the paper wrappers and casually toss them into a basket by the wall. He folded his neatly and sat them on the table to reuse later. “Just that it’s the closest I’ve seen to the markings on the children.”

“She has to be holding them somewhere, probably not far. We need to find out where those kids are and where this spell is going down tomorrow night.” Dean sighed at the amount of unanswered questions. Hansel was impressed with the level of intensity Dean could bring to bear on the problem, how quickly he shifted out of playful mood to serious. Gretel was like that; more able to let things go and enjoy life; he tended to hang back, be more cautious. Yet another reason he rarely dated anyone; Gretel charmed men easily … when she wanted too and wasn’t head-bashing them for their stupidity … but he was usually more reserved.

“I called Bobby,” Dean said. “He’s tracking down information on her. Soon as we know more about her aliases, we can start narrowing down the field.”

“And maybe find a way to get me back where I belong. Gretel’s probably going crazy looking for me.” Hansel felt the severed connection between them keenly. “It’s been pretty much just us since our parents died.”

“Yeah, I understand that. Got to keep the little brother out of trouble. He disappeared awhile back and I had to hunt him down to save him. Of course, he’d done a pretty good job of saving himself by the time I got there.” Pride was evident in Dean’s voice when he talked about his brother; he tilted his beer bottle towards Hansel. “We’ll get you back; we’ve got the contacts and resources to find a way.”

“I appreciate it. Actually, I’m grateful for your help. Lucky you were the first person to find me. Could have been much worse if one of the coven got there.” The question of why she’d sent him here hung in the air, unanswered.

“Well, lucky in a couple of ways.” Dean dropped his feet and sat his bottle on the table; rising, he braced his hands on the bed, leaning down towards Hansel. “It pissed the witches off … and I’m all for making their lives as hellish as possible. Also, your information will help stop them. But even better, I got to hear you jacking off in the shower.”

 “You just enjoy giving people a hard time, don’t you?” The words were out of his mouth before he realized the double meaning, but it was too late. Green eyes glittered with amusement as Hansel leaned his head back to see Dean better.

“Not everyone. Just certain pirate porn stars who wear leather coats and lace up pants and nothing else.” Dean’s lips quirked up in a smile. Damn, but Dean’s eyelashes were thick and full, so easy to see from this distance. “And since I seem to have interrupted your earlier activities before successful completion, I thought I’d offer to help you out.”

“So you were listening at the door?” One hand curled around Hansel’s neck, Dean’s thumb resting along Hansel’s cheek; his mouth was so close now that Hansel could feel the little puffs of breath. “You like to watch?

“Oh, you have no idea. But right now, I want to participate.” Dean’s teeth nipped at his bottom lip to keep from laughing. Expecting it, Hansel was surprised when Dean’s lips barely grazed his, the lightest of touches; his eyes had drifted shut in anticipation, and he opened them to see Dean studying his face. “What color are your eyes? Blue? Green? Gray? Damn.”

The next kiss was smooth, a caress that molded the contours of their mouths together then slid them apart to make a return pass. Dean’s hand tightened, tilting Hansel’s head further. The tip of Dean’s tongue eased across Hansel’s closed lips, into the depths of his mouth. Tentative brushes inside gave way to a languid exploration; Dean’s other hand curved around Hansel’s waist, beneath his coat. The kiss continued, lips parted now, their tongues tangling together as Dean lay Hansel back onto the bed, straddling his body, knees on either side of Hansel’s hips.

“Going to teach you so much.” Dean pulled back to look; Hansel felt laid out before the man, his chest bare to his gaze. “Lesson one. The importance of friction.”

He brought their hips together, grinding his cock against Hansel’s aching one. Gods, but that felt amazing, not just the rubbing, but specifically  Dean’s obvious bulge, the knowledge in each pass of leather against leather of how much Dean wanted him. Tugging off the mail first, Dean stripped down to just his pants, keeping a steady rhythm riding their cocks back and forth, then he came back down on his hands, tilting his body forward, but keeping their hips in constant contact.

“Like that? Not the same as touching yourself, is it?”

“No. It’s … it’s… ah, hell,” was all Hansel could answer, too busy touching Dean’s skin with his hands, running his fingers up and down, clasping them at the base of Dean’s spine to hold on.

“Now, lesson two. Let’s see where your buttons are.” He lowered his head and nipped at the line of muscle on the side of Hansel’s throat. “Time to make you jump.”

And he did, many times; when he bit down on Hansel’s earlobe, licked the line of his collarbone, and sucked a bruise into his shoulder. He made Hansel swear when he barely grazed his nipple with a passing finger, so he set about seeing how many colorful phrases he could coax out of him, biting and licking and sucking until Hansel thought he was going to come right then from nothing but that. It took both of his hands to push Dean’s head up from his skin, and Dean only chuckled at the ragged breathing and wild look in Hansel’s eyes.

“This,” Dean told him, running a finger down from Hansel’s bellybutton to the top of his pants, following the thin line of dark hair, “is a love line … or as I like to call it, a fuck-me arrow.” When Dean’s hips pulled away, Hansel protested, but then Dean’s tongue dropped into the indentation, swirling before he followed the trail downward.  Hansel bit out Dean’s name and arched his back up to meet Dean’s mouth; Dean ran the heel of his hand along Hansel’s cock before he worked the laces free and tugged the pants off, sliding off the edge of the bed to toss them onto a chair. “Damn, dude, I can’t wait to get my mouth on that.”

Hansel watched as Dean sat back down and leisurely ran one finger up the length of Hansel’s cock, circling the head and tracing the cleft. Just that light touch nearly drove Hansel insane; he groaned and begged, “Dean, please.”

Dean laughed as his hand cupped Hansel’s balls. “Not going to take much, is it?”

Hansel bucked as Dean’s tongue swirled around the edge of his head and ran down and up the aching shaft. Dean’s lips parted, and Hansel felt the moist heat of Dean’s mouth, the pull as he sucked in, the slide up, a constant rhythm of ecstasy; tight and hot and so damn good that Hansel’s hips jolted up, his hands burrowing into Dean’s hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moaned the words, not wanting Dean to stop.  He floated, tension rising; god, he was going to come soon and spectacularly from the feel of his muscles clenching and the way his chest was heaving. Just as he felt he was about to fall over the edge, the sensation stopped, and he looked down to see Dean’s eyes, dark with lust, staring back at him.

“Oh, no, not yet. I’ve got more planned for you, Candy Boy.” He left the bed and Hansel watched him dig into his duffle bag, bending over, his ass encased in the tight leather, tossing some things on the coverlet of the double bed. “I’m going to be so deep inside you that you’re going to dream about me for a long time.”

As Dean started to work the laces, Hansel sat up on his elbows. “Let me. I have lots of experience taking off pants.”

“Go for it,” Dean put his hands on his hips. “Lesson three: ask for what you want.”

Hansel got up off the bed and shed his coat, tossing it over the back of a chair; at Dean’s look, he shrugged. “Don’t know if it will … um … affect the spells.”

“Well, witches do seem to be hung up on bodily fluids,” Dean agreed, but he was clearly amused by the whole line of thought. But Hansel’s fingers wiped that away as soon as they brushed over Dean’s cock, making quick work of opening the leather; tugging down the sides, Hansel dropped down to one knee as he took the pants down to the floor where Dean could step out of them.  The move also brought his mouth to the level of Dean’s hips; hands skimmed back up Dean’s legs, curving over his ass, ending with a firm hold on hips.  Their eyes met just before Hansel’s tongue tentatively circled the velvety head, licking off a drop of pearly liquid as he traced the cleft; at Dean’s soft “damn,” Hansel smiled and got bolder, tongue running along the top and then back up the underside of Dean’s cock a few times as he got used to the sensation. Dean tasted like salt and sweat, and each pass made him groan; his eyes closed, and Hansel took a quick breath before he opened his mouth to swallow Dean down, as far as he could.  Gods, but the little mewling sounds Dean made as he sucked were so arousing that Hansel’s own cock jumped, reminding him of his needs. 

“Fuck. Fuck. You sure you’ve never done this before?” Dean’s hands held Hansel’s head still. “We have to stop or I’ll be of no use for a while.”  Giving him one last lazy pull with his mouth, Hansel let Dean’s cock go and stood up. “Bed. Now.” Dean gave him a playful push back; his knees hit the edge of the soft mattress, so he caught Dean and took him down with him in a tangle of naked limbs and bumping hips, eliciting a low growl from Dean as his cock rubbed along Hansel’s thigh.

“Like this?” he asked innocently. Sliding up the bed, Hansel propped his head up on a pillow.

“Oh, you want to play it that way?” Dean said as he came up between Hansel’s legs, pushing them apart; he had a small tube in his hand.  A puddle of gooey gel landed on Hansel’s stomach; Dean ran one hand through it, coating his fingers. “I was going to be all ‘this is your first time’ nice and easy, but keep pushing and see what you get.”

“Gretel says I always do things the hard way.” He offered, the promise of pleasure burning off his shyness. “Why change now?”

“You really are a fairytale character, damn it. I may be the one dreaming.” Dean’s hand ran down Hansel’s aching cock, over his balls, and back to the clenched muscle, circling and massaging it. “Let’s find out just how hard you like it.”

Dean’s finger didn’t hurt, not really, when it pressed inside of him very slowly, but his body reacted by tightening up. “Relax,” Dean instructed. “Gonna open you up for me. Get you nice and slick.” As he talked, he began to move his finger, in and out, around, and Hansel slowly got used to the feeling, releasing some tension as Dean’s words made him catch his breath. “You’re so ready to come, aren’t you? Feel that in your gut, the need to explode? Gonna have to wait until I let you come.” Just as he was used to one finger, Dean pushed in another, scissoring them inside of him, spreading him wider; Hansel gasped at the sensation, and his hips moved on their own, his body knowing what he needed. “That’s it, baby. Gonna fuck you so hard, fill you up. Ah, shit, you feel good. You ready for another?”

All Hansel could do was nod; the third finger hurt a little more, demanding his muscles respond to the invasion in ways they weren’t used to, but then Dean wiggled them and shifted, a spike of pure bliss jolted through Hansel’s body. “Damn,” he arched up, cock straining, hands fisting the coverlet of the bed.

“Found it.” Dean voice was heavy with his own lust; he thrust again and again until Hansel was practically babbling pleas for more.  “Tell me what you want. You’ve got to say it.”

“God, Dean. Fuck me.” He’d never imagined blurting that out to anyone, but right now, if he didn’t have Dean inside of him, he just might have to kill something.

“With pleasure.”

Fingers left him and Hansel suddenly felt empty, blood pounding in time to his heart, cock so hard he reached for it to relieve himself, but Dean caught him.

“Not yet. Not until I tell you.” He opened a small package and rolled something over his cock; Hansel watched his fingers at work. “Protection. Just in case, dude.”

“We have that too, you know.” Hansel smirked. Cocking an eyebrow at him, Dean was there, taking Hansel’s knees and hooking them over his shoulders, lifting Hansel’s hips off the bed. Dean’s cock was bigger than the three fingers, and he entered slowly, letting Hansel get used to each inch before pushing further. After what seemed like forever of the delicious torment, Dean was finally all the way, seated deep.

“See what you get for being sassy?” Dean asked with a laugh, and then turned serious. “You okay?”

“Fuck. Fuck, yes.” He had no words to describe it, this fullness, the welcome soreness that was somehow erotic and completely mind-blowingly good. “I need … god … move will you?”

“Porno pirate. I was so fucking right about you.” Dean pulled out and thrust back in, not too hard yet, but enough to surprise Hansel with his body’s response.

“I’m not going to fucking break.”  Hansel groaned. “Fuck. Me.”

“Sassy Hansel gets what he wants.” Dean shifted, changing his angle and thrust in again, brushing right over Hansel’s prostate.  “Want to take bets on how long before you scream?”

Hansel couldn’t answer at all; Dean plunged in again and started a rhythm that picked up speed, and all Hansel could do was groan and moan and bite his lip so hard to keep in the scream that was building that he drew blood.  He jerked his hips to meet Dean, their bodies crashing together as they grew increasingly faster, lost together in the thrill, more desperate for release.

The whole time, words poured out of Dean’s mouth. “God, so good, so tight, so hot, fuck, fuck, damn it, so damn good …”  Dean’s hand found Hansel’s cock, and it took only two strokes before he climaxed, spilling over on Dean’s fingers, a spattering mess of white on his stomach.  He did scream, Dean’s name bursting out of his lips as his brain went blank at the intensity of the sensation.  As the aftereffects rocked through his body, Dean bent Hansel’s legs forward, bringing his own body down to rest on his hands. Hansel watched Dean let go, let his own orgasm overtake him on the last strokes, saw his eyes close, the strain in the muscles of his neck, and then the release as Dean came inside of him. The chuckle was inappropriate – he didn’t have to have had sex to know you’d didn’t laugh during it – but he couldn’t help it. Dean had cussed as he came, calling Hansel ‘fucking sweet candy boy’ even as he collapsed their chest together, Dean’s weight a heavy warmth.

“You find that funny?” Dean lifted his head to look at Hansel.

“I don’t eat candy, but in your case I’ll make an exception.” Hansel ran a hand down Dean’s face, catching beads of sweat that were rolling down; the little cold air machine was having trouble keeping up with the heat they were making. “Candy boy?” he prompted when Dean seemed confused.

“Shit.” Dean pulled out and rolled off of him, flopping on his back. The bed was a small double, so there was no room to spread out, leaving them in a tangle of legs and skin sticky with drying sweat. “That was damn fine sex, Candy Boy. Loud, messy, and damn fine.”

“I need another shower.” Hansel looked at himself. Rolling up onto his side, Dean leaned over and kissed him, slow and … well … sweet.

“Sounds like a plan. Give me a few minutes of recovery time though. Can’t go in swimming right after you’ve eaten.”

The phone rang. Ever since Dean had explained what the little black boxes were, Hansel had wondered why anyone wanted to be in constant contact. This just proved his point. Dean got up and crossed to the table where he’d left it, tucking the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he pulled off the protection and tossed it in the garbage on his way into the bathroom.

“Bobby, you got something?” He tossed Hansel a towel from the doorway. “When you start like that I know I’m not going to like it, but hit me with it anyway.”

Back to business, they both cleaned up as Dean listened to the man on the other end of the phone. “Wait a minute.  Backup. Circe? Who the hell is that?”

“Powerful witch from Greek times. Liked to turn men into pigs. Real bitch. Odysseus ‘tamed’ her, if I remember the story right.” Hansel offered as he pulled on his pants.

“Pigs? Okay.”  Dean stopped. “Yeah, Bobby. Another hunter we ran into. Knows a lot about witches.” He winked at Hansel. “Hansel, and yes, the same as. It’s a long story.”  He made a motion with his hand as he listened, circling his first finger while he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know all that. Now about Circe and this spell …”

Hansel tuned out Dean’s portion of the conversation, mind jumping ahead, making connections. The fount of all magical, the power of the ages. There were usually some grains of truth in the old stories; if so, was Cassandra trying to capture the power of the long dead Circe? Or something even worse?

“Hey, Bobby’s got an address for Cassandra. She’s going by the name Helen Telmon, lives nearby in Greensburg. Feel like a little trip out?” Dean dressed quickly, offering Hansel a short sleeve soft grey shirt. “You can keep the leather pants, but the rest will look out of place in town.”

“Even the jacket?” He picked it up anyway; no way in hell was he going anywhere near a witch without it. “But I thought you liked it.”

“Okay. Bring the coat. In case I want to introduce you to the joy of car sex.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Hansel is gay and a virgin is all mine. Haven't seen the movie yet (tomorrow!!!!!!), but I'm thinking of the little brother who ate the candy and got them in trouble. He might grow up to be a little shy and hesitant about trusting others. Notice I'm pretty clear that he's gay because he likes guys, not the whole witches thing. Just wanted to be clear on that point. :) Anyway, makes for a top!Dean and a romantic first time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The witch has plans, Hansel is worried, and Dean understands.
> 
> Pre-hell Dean and bashful Hansel for no reason other than because I want to. :)

Sam opened the door and slid into the back seat of the Impala; Dean watched his brother in the rearview mirror, expecting the look, the “what the hell have you gotten us into this time” roll of his eyes. Dean shrugged and gave Sam his best “hey, not my fault some witch fucked with us” lip curl.

“Sam, meet Hansel. Hansel, my baby brother, Sam.” He grinned when Sam caught the way Hansel smirked at Dean. That one earned him the “oh my god did you already fuck him?” eyebrow raise from the back seat. Sam extended his hand and shook the one Hansel offered.

“Always good to have an experienced hunter when we’re dealing with a coven,” he said, being his usual polite self.  Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing, chuckling instead.

“Hansel’s very … experienced … when it comes to witch killing.” God, he enjoyed giving his brother grief and, for added pleasure, he got to make Hansel blush again.

“Dean.” Hansel ducked his head, not meeting Sam’s eyes. For his part, Sam gave Dean the “oh my god you are such a jerk” poke on his shoulder.

“Can you grow up for just a minute and focus on the case?” Sam chided; yeah, Dean probably should do that. But Hansel was just such an easy target … and a nice looking one too. “I found out quite a bit about Cassandra, aka Helen Telmon. She’s a nurse at the local hospital. Specializes in pediatric trauma care.”

“Kids. She works with sick kids?” Dean shook his head, feeling the familiar anger in his gut. “Bitch.”

“Yeah, it gets better. She’s lived here for over ten years; everyone knows she travels to various Fairs around the country, so it’s no surprise that she was in Virginia. Volunteers at an afterschool program at the local elementary school; she tutors kids at her own home through a government program. People seem to think she’s frickin’ Mother Teresa or something.” Sam added.

“Mother Teresa?” Hansel asked, confused.

“Helped the poor and healed the sick. A nun who’s now a saint.” He turned back to Sam. “All of which is a great way to get her hands on kids. So why take them from the Fair and not grab ones in town?”

“Because I’m here? There has to be a reason she did this, other than just to get me out of the way.” Hansel was thinking out loud, falling easily into the brothers’ brainstorming. 

“Well, one thing for sure, she needs the whole coven together for this spell, and the woman she was with isn’t from around here. She lives in Virginia. The Fairs are a reason to get together. The perfect opportunities to take a few kids here, a few there and never get caught.”

Dean nodded; Sam was right on the money there. The situation was perfect to hide the witches’ activities.

“Now we just need to find out where they’re going to hold the ritual and go kick their ugly asses.” Hansel tossed out, and Dean liked him even more for his unrelenting hatred of witches. Sam might want to talk to them, but Hansel was shoot-first-ask-questions-later, Dean’s kind of guy. “Usually, there’s some sort of sacred place; must be something nearby the various … what did you call them? Fairs?”

“All the bodies were found in wooded areas, but that could just be dumping grounds.” Dean propped his arm up on the back of the seat, turning to look at Sam, and resting his knee on the seat, conveniently close to Hansel’s leg. “I doubt they’re doing it at the fair sites themselves, but all of them were in more rural areas.”

“They always liked the woods at night. I’m surprised to find one living in a city like this …..” Hansel stopped talking, eye on the woman crossing the street towards the car. Her hips swayed as she walked, obscenely short pants that showed far too much leg and even the curve of her cheeks, top that fit tightly over her breasts, scooping low and leaving her arms bare. Cassandra smiled when she saw him watching, strolling over to Dean’s window and leaning her arm on the edge of the car, bending down to look in, giving the occupants a clear line of sight down her shirt, the curve of the neckline just above the dusky brown aureoles of her breasts.

“Evening, boys. Nice night for surveillance at least, right?” Her voice like silky honey, she idly reached for Dean’s arm; he yanked it away, face hard and angry.

“No touching, bitch.” His gun appeared, aimed at her, held steady.

“Oh, I think I like you.” She laughed. “Bullets are so quaint. Won’t hurt me, of course, but I appreciate the gesture all the same. And here I was, being nice and helping you out. Going to be a long night otherwise.”

Keeping the gun trained on her, Sam and Dean held a silent discussion in a series of eye movements; Sam’s “let’s get as much information as we can out of her” wide-eyed gaze won.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What do you want?” Sam said.

“Well, first, I just wanted to check on my old friend. I have to admit that spell only works about 30% of the time. Nice to see you made it through with all your limbs intact, Hansel, darling.” Hansel’s face could have been carved from stone as he glared steadily at her; Dean was pretty sure that’s what his face would look like if he glanced in the rearview mirror, another thing they had in common. “No diminished mental capacity, I hope? One poor boy was reduced to babbling gibberish.”

No one spoke, and the tense silence stretched out; a car passed, slowing down to check out Cassandra’s miniscule outfit. “Ever the conversationalist, Hansel? I’ll take that as a yes. Secondly, I just wanted to tell you that you should go home and get some sleep. Nothing is going to happen tonight. I need to be fully rested for the ceremony and intend to sleep a good 12 hours. No babies will be harmed or taken or eaten for the duration. Cross my heart.” She drew a little X on the bare skin of her chest, trailing the finger down further as Dean’s eyes involuntarily followed.  Okay, sue him. Those were mighty fine breasts she was displaying.

“Right. You’re just going to trot that ass right back into your house and go to bed? Lady, I’ve got some beachfront property in Iowa I want to sell you.” Did she really think they would buy this? Dean wasn’t that gullible.

“Oh, darling, I won’t be home of course, and you still have to find us, but, honestly, tomorrow just won’t be as much fun if you’re dragging your tired asses around. I need all of you on your A game; I’ve promised everyone a good time, you see, and I take my hostess duties very seriously. So drive this sexy car on back to that no-tell motel and fight about who gets to share a bed.” She winked at Dean and shivered a little. “Oh, doesn’t that conjure up some serious fantasies; I’ll lull myself to sleep thinking about the three of you.”

“You are one fucked-up witch,” Dean grumbled at her.

“Thank you, love,” she smiled. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Now get out of here. I called the police about three suspicious men lurking outside my house. Who do you think they’ll believe? Angelic nurse Helen or you?” With a wave, she started to go then turned back. “Oh, and Hansel? Your sister was so upset about missing your little departure. I think her exact last words were ‘I’m going to kill you bitch’.” She laughed as she kept walking then disappeared from view.

“What a piece of work,” Sam muttered. Dean was too busy checking Hansel’s reaction to the parting shot; he hadn’t said a word the entire time. Fists clenched around his shotgun, his eyes tracked her, a burning hatred kindled in their depths.

“Hey, she’s just getting your goat, man,” he lightly touched Hansel’s thigh with a calm hand. “Obviously, your sister stopped her from completing the spell that time, so she had to kick some major ass, right?”

Muscles relaxed a little, and Hansel’s eyes cut to Dean’s face; the corner of his lips quirked. “Oh, yeah, Gretel would have fucked them up.”

“Now you’re making me want to meet this woman.” Dean started the Impala’s engine. He saw Sam’s ‘okay there’s something I don’t know here isn’t there’ question face in the mirror. “Oh, Sammy, have I got a girl for you.”

…………………………………………

Dean rolled over, eyes cracking open then drifting shut again. It was early morning – that time when just the barest hint of the coming light was starting to filter into the dark – and Sam was splayed out on the other bed, arms hanging off the sides, face buried in a pillow, still in jeans and tee. After they’d left Cassandra’s street, the whole evening had been one big waste of time; Cassandra was MIA, their searches turned up nothing, and the internet offered no options. Even phone calls to Bobby were answered with a “give me time, idijits.” Finally, they’d accepted defeat and gone back to the hotel to crash. Hansel had insisted on a thorough search for hex bags and had even taught them a couple of new warding glyphs to protect the room from magic. All totaled, it was still early – about 1 am – when Sam had kicked off his shoes and tossed himself down on the bed. Hansel had freaked a little about the assumption that he and Dean would share, but he’d been pretty damn cool about Dean tossing his arm over him, hooking his ankle over Hansel’s leg, and tucking his head into the curve of Hansel’s neck. Dean should have been weirded out by Sam’s very knowing eyes watching them as they settled down, but he found he really didn’t give a fuck what his brother thought about the whole thing. Seriously? He’d had damn fine sex with a fairytale hunter who was probably going back to his time soon. Wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever done.

Cool sheets spread under his fingers and Dean’s eyes popped back open; Hansel wasn’t on his side of the bed. Leather coat was still across the back of the chair, boots on the floor – he’d left most of his stuff, so he couldn’t have gone far. Bathroom was open and dark. Chain was off the door, and that shotgun missing. Pushing up, Dean swung his feet over the edge of the bed, grabbed the gun from under his pillow and padded over to the door, opening it quietly to avoid waking Sam. They’d taken a room around the back of the motel, facing the wooded lot behind; paranoid after meeting Cassandra, he’d left the Impala across the small stream that wound through the trees, in a clearing accessible by another street. As his bare feet felt the small rocks and sticks, he had second thoughts about going back and getting dressed; only jeans rode low on his hips in deference to the heat. But he thought he knew where Hansel had gone based upon a stray remark he’d made earlier. He stepped carefully over the glyphs drawn in the dirt then saw the familiar shape of the Impala. Hansel was sitting on the hood, back against the windshield, wearing his pants and the henley Dean had loaned him, shotgun lying close at hand.

“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to bother anyone,” he said.

“Woke up and wasn’t smashed into a small section of the bed.” Dean climbed up beside Hansel. “Figured you needed more space.”

They sat quietly for a bit and Dean let his eyes drift closed. Actually, it wasn’t all that uncomfortable; the night was warm and the stars painted a pattern across the sky. The sound of the occasional passing car on the other side of the trees was a background hum, and Hansel breathed steady and even.

“So, the bitch has a plan for all of us. Sending me here to meet you was part of it. I’ve been playing it out in my head.” Hansel absently rubbed his hands on his thighs.

“In my experience, it’s always worse than we know. I just go in expecting a clusterfuck; then I’m not disappointed.” And things never got better, each new challenge harder and more difficult than the last. “I’ll be black and blue before this is over. Always am.”

“If I’m not hurting, it isn’t finished,” Hansel agreed then fell back into silence again.

“I realized that she’s dead.” His voice was soft in the night. “Even if she got married, had kids, grew old and died in her sleep, she’s long gone. Probably more than 200 years now.”

“Time travel sucks, man.” Dean sympathized. There was crazy shit in the world, more than most people could even imagine. “But you’ll find a way back and the two of you can kill more witches.”

“I will or I’ll die trying. She’s the most important thing, the only family I have.”

“Yeah, I understand that.” Dean did; he’d die for Sam in a heartbeat. “That’s what they don’t get … and never will. Sold their souls for personal gain – the power of family escapes them.”

“You are not what you seem.” Hansel rolled onto his side and ran fingers along Dean’s jaw, cupping his hand at the nape of his neck. His thumb traced Dean’s lower lip, dragging it down. “I’m definitely not sorry for this one.” His breath warmed Dean before he felt the brief graze of his lips that lifted away; Dean kept his eyes open, seeing into the stormy blue-grey depths of Hansel’s, the intimacy of the moment reflected there as their lips hung less than an inch apart. It was Dean who closed the distance, capturing Hansel’s head with his hands; kisses followed like breaths, an inhale of touch and taste and exploration, an exhale of pauses and breaks and sighs. Glass beneath his back, metal under his bare feet, warm hand sliding along his shoulder, Dean’s tongue drew the line of Hansel’s lips before easing inside his mouth to ride the circle of teeth. No rush, just the slowness of honey, thick and sweet, worth waiting for; kisses on the mouth, fingertip caresses on the skin, and heated gazes full of promise, all in the darkness of the pre-dawn.

“So,” Hansel murmured against his lips, “what makes you jump, Dean Winchester?”

“Ah, now, why would I tell you that?” Dean dropped his hands and lay still while Hansel’s eyes roved over his naked chest and the noticeable bulge in his jeans. The man’s hesitation was endearing, so tough and strong but unsure in this. “Guess you’ll have to hunt for them.”

“That I can do.” The man was nothing if not thorough, not content to just brush his lips on a spot of skin; he kissed and tasted and touched and bit and sucked each one after the other, places no one had ever paid attention to before. The top curve of Dean’s ear, the indentation at his temple, the small hollow of skin where his collarbone dipped. Hansel stopped at every scar, running his fingers over it before his tongue followed, the sensation like liquid heat in Dean’s gut. Heavy and hard, Dean’s cock responded to the most innocent of contact – the soft brush of the edge of cotton as Hansel’s arm crossed Dean’s chest, that moment of warm air just before lips pressed in. He felt like he was idling, the car his anchor and Hansel’s ministrations the engine fueling the ache in his groin; time seemed endless -- 5, 20, 40 minutes, maybe an hour he rode the sensation, letting Hansel take the wheel.

When it was all almost too much, he covered one of Hansel’s hands with his own and moved it down to stroke his cock through his jeans, linking their fingers together. He was aching for release, and the friction felt good, so damn good that he groaned and pushed his hips up, giving a little grunt of complaint when Hansel took his hand away long enough to unbutton, unzip and push Dean’s pants down far enough to free him. He went with Hansel’s tug and lifted up so Hansel could slip an arm under his back, settling Dean’s weight on his shoulder and holding him close.

“I want to see you. This I know how to do.” Hansel breathed the words into Dean’s mouth with a kiss. With a moan, Dean pushed his hip to feel Hansel’s hardness, grinding enough to earn him a startled gasp. Hansel’s fingers trailed through the liquid leaking from the head, circling the edges, spreading it down the shaft to make his hand slide easier; he explored up and down, curving under the sacs to drag along the sensitive place behind them. Dean knew words were falling out of his mouth under his breath, and Hansel leaned over, capturing the sounds in his mouth. Heady and erotic, the experience was  … well, damn it, he was getting one hell of a hand job on the hood of his baby, where anyone could walk up on them and people could be watching and … fuck … he not only didn’t care, he wanted more. Moving, he brought them face-to-face, shoving at Hansel’s pants, already unlaced and half-open; as soon as Hansel’s cock was free, Dean took Hansel’s hand with his and curled around them both, hot flesh rubbing together inside the circle of their hands.

“Fuck,” Hansel groaned as he realized what Dean was doing, surprise giving way to hazy lust in his eyes. God, but Hansel’s mouth was open, looking so thoroughly kissed, and the tip of his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip; Dean couldn’t resist taking it with his own, shifting into a higher gear with an aggressive kiss that invaded Hansel’s mouth, hard and fast.

“You want to watch, Candy Boy?” Dean eyes were intent on Hansel’s as he spoke. “Then come with me.”

Hips started, hands holding still, cocks thrusting up and back; it took a few tries to get a rhythm together, pulsing up at the right time so they were slipping along each other, pre-come mixing and lubricating their shafts, making it easier as their movements became more urgent. Their knees bumped, a windshield wiper was digging into Dean’s side, anyone could hear their ragged breaths, and, hell, Dean was so going to have to wash his baby before Sam saw the evidence of this. But he didn’t give a rat’s ass; the feeling was too amazing, sexier-than-hell, son-of-a-bitch he was going to … When he came, he closed his eyes and just rode it out, Hansel’s own groans of release so close to Dean’s as they leaned their foreheads together. Heart pounding and chest heaving, he lay still until things stopped spinning, and he was capable of talking again.

A truck’s horn sounded from the road; Dean groaned. “Dude, you so are cleaning this car.” As much as he’d like to just roll, boneless, onto his back and stay there, Dean pushed up and swung his legs over the edge of the hood, glancing back to see Hansel flop over and rub his face. Now that was a lovely image to file away for future solo sessions. “Think you can sleep now?”

“I think I’ll sleep right here, thank you.” Despite his words, Hansel got up too.

“Bed’s better. We can get a couple more hours.” Dean insisted on wiping the hood down with a towel from the trunk at least before they headed back to the room. They opened the door as quietly as possible, taking quick turns in the bathroom to clean up, trying not to disturb Sam. As Dean crawled in behind Hansel, spooning up to him – to save room, of course – he saw Sam give him the ‘damn it dean you had sex with him” look. Dean shot back the ‘at least we did it outside’ eyebrow wiggle; Sam huffed, turned his head, and went back to sleep.                

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so I saw the movie AFTER part 2 of this and thought "damn, I need to change the whole thing" and then thought "Nah, I'll just go with it." Honest. I had no idea what the plot of the movie was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you're looking for a virgin sacrifice, you better not put them in Dean Winchester's path.
> 
> The boys battle some witches and get really pissed at each other; fortunately, Hansel knows the right therapy to help. 
> 
> WARNING: depictions of violence and death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give Katya credit here. She helped me figure out how to get them mad at each other.

“You going to finish that?” Hansel asked, forking up a bit of sausage Dean had left on the plate even as he was asking. He’d finished off his farmer’s breakfast in record time, sopping up the last of the gravy with a biscuit and now was starting in on Dean’s food.

“Yes.” Dean nudged Hansel with his elbow, pushing him away as they sat in the diner’s booth. “Order some more if you’re still hungry. You’d think we were starving you or something.”

“Eat when you can, that’s my motto.” Hansel sipped his tea; they’d managed to get up and going relatively easily, considering the dance for the bathroom with three of them, and found a diner that was served all day breakfast. The faire didn’t open until 11 a.m., so they had some time to lay out a plan of attack. “I hate to see good pig go to waste.”

With the proximity to the faire, no one gave a second glance at their outfits, chainmail and leather and real swords fixed up to look like fake. No one noticed the bulge of the shotgun along Hansel’s side or the shoulder holster tucked under Sam’s blue F. B. I. suit. The guys at the next table had a two headed battle axe leaned against the wall, and there were longbow men in the back booth, eating French toast with strawberries and cream.

“Hello?” Sam’s phone rang and he picked it up, pushing his plate towards Hansel who had no problem finishing what was left of the short stack. “Hey, let me call you back in five.” He cut the connection. “Bobby’s got something.”

Rising, Dean tossed money on the table to cover the bill, and they headed out to the car, Hansel sliding into the backseat, before they got Bobby on the line again. Sam put the call on speaker phone; Hansel was surprised to hear the tinny voice, but, in the grand scheme of all the new things he’d seen, he just rolled with it.

“You boys aren’t going to want to hear this, but we’re in a lot deeper shit than I first thought,” Bobby said, getting straight to the point. “That spell we were talking about? It’s been done already. 1787 in a little town near Hapsburg, Germany. Thirteen missing kids and the whole town nearly blown off the map with the bang.”

Hansel’s face paled at the news; sinking back into the seat, the man took a few deep breaths, obviously trying to hold it all together. “Merlsag,” was all he said.

“Yeah, that’s the place.” Bobby’s voice responded. “I found some old hunters’ journals, and they say the witches were successful in calling up Circe.”

“Any mention of survivors?” Hansel asked, and Dean could see the grief on his face at the thought of his sister.

“I’m sorry, boy, but there’s nothing. One newspaper article mentioned that you’d been called in, but that’s it.” Bobby paused, seemingly aware of Hansel’s pain.

“It makes no sense,” Sam broke in, changing the subject. Dean wished he could reach Hansel to at least put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it was probably for the best. He could see Hansel’s shock translating into anger even as Bobby continued talking.

“Yeah, actually it does. See that spell to call Circe? It was based upon an older spell, one that had been corrupted through the centuries. I mean really old, like moldy Babylonian gods old, and nobody’s seen it since Circe’s time. It’s a spell to destroy all of your enemies in one fell swoop and make you invulnerable. You need twelve ‘spawn of your devils’ to weave a protective spell around the witch.”

“The children of the witches’ enemies?” Dean asked.

“Or other witches, anyone who opposes the coven. I bet if you start searching the families of these kids, you’ll find the connections. Cassandra had to get Circe to find the original.” Bobby coughed a little, the familiar sound of him sipping whiskey carrying over the phone. He was hitting the hunter’s helper pretty early.  “And here’s an interesting bit of news. Seems there was an explosion at the hospital where the witch works about two months ago. A kid went missing during all of the commotion. That would make three there in town that they’ve taken, but she still needs three more for tonight.”

“The numbers just aren’t adding up right,” Dean noted. That was bothering him. 

“But that’s not the really weird part,” Bobby continued. “The thirteenth has to be … and this is exactly what it says … a virgin blood of a child of untapped white magic. Whatever the hell that means.”

If Dean hadn’t been watching Hansel in the rearview mirror, he would have missed the slight widening of his eyes. Aw hell, he knew in a second of clarity; that was exactly why the bitch had sent Hansel here. And then he was laughing, the absurdity of it hitting him.

“Dean?” Sam asked, giving his brother the ‘are-you-going-crazy-finally?’ glare.

“Well, I think we can be pretty sure that old number thirteen isn’t going to happen, right?” His laughter hid the stab of anger, a creeping doubt. What else hadn’t Hansel told them?

“You finally gone around the bend, boy?” Bobby asked. Sam got it, shaking his head.

“My mother was a white witch,” Hansel admitted. “It’s why the witch wanted to eat us, to take our magic. Neither one of us have ever touched it.”

“Hey, at least we don’t have to worry about the whole virgin thing, right?” Dean’s voice was harder than he intended it to be, but he was simmering, more about his own stupidity than anything else. Drop a handsome blushing guy in his way and all of Dean’s blood drained from his head and voted to put his dick in charge. “So number 13 is a wash.”

“Listen, boys. Somewhere this bitch has got at least three scared kids and she intends to carve them up tonight along with Hansel. Get your head straight and figure this out. Focus on the families. I’ll do more checking here.” Bobby said and then hung up.

Dean gripped the steering wheel, his usual dislike of witches mixed up with his frustration at his own stupidity.   “Fine, let’s talk to some grieving parents and see what we can find out. Sam, you take the Walters.  Candy Boy and I will take the Smiths.”

Hansel gave him a curt nod in response; Dean could see he wasn’t the only one upset. He should reign himself in; the man had just learned that his sister had probably died by the same witches who were now after him. But for some reason, Dean couldn’t let it go; if it had just been mindless sex, he’d shrug it off, but he was starting to really like the guy, only to find out that he was a witch, warlock, whatever. Damn it all to hell. He didn’t know if he could trust Hansel at all.

* * *

 

“Who did you say you were again?” Patricia Smith was a small woman, no more than 25-years-old, with a long blonde ponytail, a Pittsburgh Steelers tank top and a pair of green plastic flip flops under the ragged edges of her jeans. “From the Renaissance Faire?”

Dean had taken off the mail, but he and Hansel were both still dressed like something out a medieval story. It wasn’t the best way to handle an interrogation, but they didn’t have time to go back and change; the Smiths lived pretty far out in country, small house surrounded by forest. Plus, Dean wasn’t really sure he wanted to be in back in the hotel room with Hansel at the moment; they’d probably end up ‘talking about it’ and Dean hated those kinds of conversations. His preferred way of dealing with emotional turmoil was to just pretend it was a nasty hangover that would eventually go away. He’d remained silent for the whole drive, right up until the car turned on the rutted gravel driveway.

“Yes, ma’am, we’re with faire security. In fact we’re on our way back there now, but we just wanted to stop to ask a few follow up questions about Betsy.” Hansel took the lead, and Dean had to admit, the man was good, right up there with Sam when it came to a making people feel comfortable. “I know this is difficult, but it’s very important and may help us find your daughter.”

“I’ve told the police and F.B.I. everything I know,” she started, a tremble in her voice. Oh, god, she was going to cry, and Dean really hated dealing with teary-eyed women.

“Look, we have a few new leads to track down, and we think your family may have specifically been targeted. Any reason someone would be out to get you?” Dean could play bad cop with the best of them; Hansel gave Dean a ‘really? That’s your play?’ look, and, hell, when did he start knowing how to translate Hansel’s looks?

“Me? What do you mean my family? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” That only served to upset Patricia, and she began to sob in earnest. Hansel dropped a hand on her knee and patted her consolingly.

“What about that hex bag there? The peppers over the door? Those are protective elements, aren’t they?” Hansel asked gently. Patricia jerked, eyes going wide.

“My grandmother did that. You have to understand; she’s almost ninety-two and she has some strange ideas about things, but it’s harmless, you know. I just let her do it to make her happy.” She swallowed nervously. “You don’t think that has anything to do with Betsy? Some crazy witchcraft haters or something? Granny wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s a midwife, spent her whole life helping others. She even delivered Betsy.”

“There are very bad people in the world,” Hansel tried to assure the woman. “It’s our job to take care of them.”

 “Thank you Ms. Smith.  You’ve been very helpful. We’ll be in touch.” Dean stood, ready to leave.

“But … but  ... what about Betsy?” She followed them, clutching at Hansel’s coat. He unlaced her fingers and kept moving.

“We’ll find her for you.” Hansel promised; it was what parents always wanted to hear.

“Okay, so Granny’s a white witch,” Dean said as they walked to the car. “Looks like Bobby was right.”

“Dean.” Hansel drew his shotgun out from under his jacket, eyes trained on the edge of the woods. Two women and one man stood there dressed like models from Abercrombie and Fitch, young bodies half-naked, khaki shorts and tiny tanks revealing tattoos winding up their legs and arms. All of the problems between them fell away in the face of the witches; Dean drew his sword, pulling the sharpened steel out of the wooden cover. “Take their heads. It’s the only way to be sure.”

The blonde haired witch spread her hand out and a fine mist enveloped Dean, spraying over the front of his jerkin; the droplets hit the leather and began to sizzle, burning tiny holes as they burrowed their way towards his chest.

“Fuck. I liked this!” Dean jerked at his belt, trying to hold onto his sword while he tore off the leather; the acid had worked as far as the linen shirt and that too was flung over his head. Hansel’s shotgun blasted and the brunette danced out of the way as the warlock rushed forward. Stepping in front of the oncoming body, Dean swung the sword up and caught the man’s midsection, sinking the sharp edge deep into the soft belly, drawing a red line as Dean followed through and yanked it back out. The man staggered, but then a wicked looking curved dagger appeared in his hand and he lashed out, stabbing Dean’s forearm with the tip.  Kicking out, Dean knocked the warlock back another step, throwing him against the Impala. With one swing, Dean’s sword took the Warlock’s head, blood spattering over the trunk as it sailed over the car.

“Now look what you made me do,” Dean complained as he turned back to see Hansel grappling with the brunette witch; hauling back, Hansel slammed his forehead into hers and she reeled, distracted long enough for Hansel to put the shotgun right in her face and pull the trigger. Dean called out, tossing the sword to Hansel who used it to take off her head. Well, hell, the man was a seriously good at this, a real badass. Dean was half-aroused just watching him.

“Watch out!” Hansel pushed Dean up against the car, the leather of his vest crushing against Dean’s bare skin, buckles pressing into his chest. Sweat gleamed on Hansel’s face, the morning already warm; Dean could feel the recoil of Hansel’s body as the spell smacked him squarely in the back. Over the leather clad shoulder, Dean saw the blonde witch, her eyes burning with hatred, and a crackle sounded, little tendrils of electricity as the spell hit the wardings on Hansel’s coat. Grabbing the shotgun from Hansel’s hands, Dean brought it up and fired as soon as Hansel swung out of the way while Hansel struggled out of his smoking coat. The witch darted to the side, avoiding the blast, taloned fingers scoring across Dean’s chest as she slammed into him.

“Watch the car, bitch,” Dean growled, kicking out and catching her knee; she folded, and he raised the shotgun, burying it in her stomach before he pulled the trigger. As her body recoiled, Hansel brought the sword up; even as the sharp steel bit into her throat, she was chanting another spell, and then her head separated from her body.

“Acid spray?” Dean looked his baby over for marks, let out a breath when he didn’t see any pits in the paint job; the rush of the fight made him really pissed off.

Hansel shrugged, bending down to wipe the blood off the blade with the witch’s plaid shirt. “Witches. Kill ‘em all and let the devil sort ‘em out.”

Dean glanced at the other hunter, noticing the lines of tension around his eyes and the angry set of his mouth. Yeah, looked like Hansel felt the same way he did; could this day get any more fucked up? Dean let Hansel bundle Patricia Smith out the back door and into her car, sending her off to her grandmother’s house for protection; he dragged the bodies into the woods and started digging a pit. After she’d left, they’d worked in silence, shoveling up the heavy clay in the now afternoon heat until they were both grimy, sweating profusely, along with being speckled with blood. Hansel had taken off his vest and shirt, tossing them in the car, and even the distraction of muscles flexing with each lift of his arms wasn’t distracting Dean from his thoughts. The more quiet things got, the more he dwelt on the situation. As they tossed the bodies in, salted them, lit the fire, Dean knew he was angry. Really angry.

“We need to take care of those scratches fast before they become infected,” Hansel said. As Dean leaned against a tree, wiping the sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand, Hansel got the first aid kit out of the car. Now how the hell did he know where that was, Dean wondered? Had Hansel searched the Impala?

“Good thing you got your shirt off pretty quick.” Hansel’s voice had an edge, a bit of a sneer to Dean’s ears; he cracked the lid of the box and reached it to Dean. Grabbing some antiseptic wipes, he tore one open and started cleaning up the long red trails the witch had left behind, noticing Hansel’s moment of hesitation before he took one to work on the puncture wound on Dean’s arm. Dean hissed as Hansel cleaned and covered it with a bandage.

“I kind of like my lungs without smoking holes, thank you.” He’d thought he’d cool down after dropping the shovel, but he was still burning up, heat affecting his thinking. Pushing Hansel back, he strode to the car and pulling a bottle of water from the cooler on the floorboard in the backseat. He cracked the seal, drank almost half of it in one gulp, then dragged another out and tossed it over.

“You’re still pissed that I didn’t tell you about my mother.” Hansel sat the kit on the hood of the car. “Like you’ve told me everything about you? Self-righteous much?”

“Since we’re dealing with witches, it’s relevant. You should have told me.” That’s what Dean was telling himself, anyway, the angry voice in his brain that was drowning out all the others; if he was honest, he was more upset that he’d pretty much decided to trust the guy way too fast.

“You sure it’s not because you had this whole virgin thing going? Teaching me what to do, being all dominant and in charge?” Hansel’s eyes were hard and a fury was beginning there. “You’re upset because you fucked a witch’s kid?”

“Fine. I’m pissed that I let my dick cloud my judgment,” Dean said. “You could have been lying about all sorts of things. Hell, you still could. But that didn’t stop me from fucking you the first chance I got.” Goddamn it, but Dean was sweating again, the harsh words tumbling out of his mouth, and he wasn’t really all that upset about the mother thing.

“I could say the same about myself. I just jumped right in; you could have been a warlock or anything else. But I’ll admit I damn well enjoyed it.” Hansel made the first move, boxing Dean in against the hood of the Impala, resting his hands on warm metal.

“Ah, I see. Big fight, lots of adrenaline, and now you’re feeling the after burn?”  Dean caught Hansel’s hips, grinding his already aroused cock against Hansel’s. Yeah. Dean was so going to do this. Right here. The roiling emotions he was feeling – anger, frustration, heat – all funneled easily into pure lust.  

 “Always feel it, but usually it’s just me and my hand.” Hansel leaned in, closing the distance between their faces. “Think I might want to try something different this time, damn the consequences.”

“You want me to bend you over and take you right here?” Dean’s voice grew husky and deep. “’Cause I can do that, but it will be rough. Hard and fast.”

“Actually, I was thinking of you spread out underneath me.” Hansel watched as Dean closed his eyes at the words, letting out a heavy exhale before he opened them again. “My mother being a witch going to keep me from fucking you?”

“So Candy Boy wants to be on top? You can try.” Dean lunged forward, hands circling the neck as his mouth attacked Hansel’s. They came together in a tangle, brains still telegraphing the urge to fight. The energy channeled into need – to touch, to have, to fill. An age-old battle of dominance fought with pleasure as strategy and mouths as weapons. Tongues circled, heads tilted, lips nipped until they stopped to suck in air; hips flush, cocks rubbing, fingers digging in, leaving bruises. Defying each other, trying to be in control, to occupy the same space on their own terms; Hansel gripped Dean’s short hair and tugged his head back, just at the edge of pain, baring the smooth column of Dean’s neck to suck little bruises along as he worked his way down to the collarbone, each pull a little jolt of pleasure mixed with ache.  Dean sunk his fingers into the curve of Hansel’s hip bones, thumb bearing down, forcing him still as Dean ruthlessly straddled one of Hansel’s thigh and rode it, shoving his own thigh against the very hard bulge of Hansel’s cock. Short breaths, clenched teeth, bites and licks as things quickly spiraled out of control, bodies slick with sweat sliding along skin and metal and glass, the ache of Dean’s dick throbbing in time to the pounding in his head. Dean hooked his knee around Hansel’s leg and took him over, flipping them and slamming the man back. “Going to have to work for it, Stroker.”

“Fuck you, Dean. And I mean I’m going to.”

A tug of laces ensued as they grappled together, tearing at their pants as their mouths skirmished again; when Hansel palmed his balls and stroked his cock, no light touch but a heavy pressure, Dean was torn between how damn good it felt and a sharp stab of something akin to hate. He had little time to wonder what that was before Hansel’s thumbs skimmed over the long scratches on his stomach; Dean hissed at the pain, the need to retaliate overwhelming. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hands were around Hansel’s neck, grip tight, squeezing; Dean’s brain felt like it was on fire, the desire to choke the life out of the man before him so real and intense he could almost breathe it in.

“What the …” Dropping his hands as if scalded, Dean looked at them in confusion. Hansel took the moment to reverse their positions, shoving Dean down on the metal hood.

“When did you get so damn bossy?” Dean demanded, bucking up against the hold, the second of clarity lost again amid the agitation; Hansel dropped his forearm across the small of Dean’s back and held him down, yanking at the waistband of Dean’s pants, baring his ass.

“Been getting lessons from you. You keep doing that and I’ll get the impression you want me to fuck you right now.”  Teeth sank into Dean’s shoulder, not breaking the skin, but hurting like the devil; snapping out a curse, he tried again to throw Hansel off.

“Then do it.” Dean wanted it, needed it right then; trapped beneath Hansel’s weight, Dean felt the anger recede, passion replacing it and swamping the strange feelings.  Sweet and easy had been nice and all, but there was something to be said for rough and hard. Dean’s muscles bunched under Hansel’s arm and he arched his back, feeling the outline of Hansel’s cock against his ass and knowing just how much Hansel was turned on by it all. Weighing Dean down even more, Hansel squeezed out the lube and then his fingers slipped between Dean’s cheeks until he could circle the tight muscle, stroking before he pushed one finger in.

“You some sort of Boy Scout? Got the lube and condom out of the kit didn’t you?” Dean didn’t really care anymore about anything but his cheek against the metal, Hansel’s warm skin on his back, the edge of the fender that was pressing into his hip bone, and that damn finger that was exploring. In and out, Dean moved his hips in concert, enjoying the drag of his cock over the smooth paint, and then Hansel add a second finger, circled and twirled and scissored, touching every crevice and bend until he found the right spot, just like he knew exactly what he was looking for. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” words spilled out of Dean, taking some of the anger with each one.

“You know,” Hansel bent down to whisper in Dean’s ear as he ruthlessly pressed the same spot again and again. “Yours is the only ass I’ve had my fingers in beside my own. Thought you might like that.”

“Fucking hell, Candy Boy,” Dean punctuated each word with a groan as his breathing grew ragged. “You have no idea how hot that is, how much I need to hear it.”

“You like being the first?” Hansel stretched Dean even more with a third finger, but Dean was almost at the end of his patience.

“Hell, yes.” Dean moaned as Hansel pulled his fingers out, condom package crinkling and a muttered curse.  “Need help there, fairytale boy?”

“Oh, I think I can handle this. Pretty good at hitting my target,” he said. The tip of Hansel’s cock brushed against Dean as his hands slid up Dean’s back, and then he felt the breach, Hansel filling him, slow despite the angry words, taking his damn time to work his way in as far as he could, until he was so deep that Dean thought he could feel him in the back of his throat. Or maybe that was the irrational rage melting away as Hansel dropped his head onto Dean’s shoulder blade, shifting a little to change the angle, to make the connection more solid. For a few breaths, he was still except for his hands, flexing and clenching around Dean’s waist. “Oh. Oh, god. Fuck,” Hansel groaned.

“You okay?” Dean turned his head and saw the blissed out look in the blue-grey eyes, the flush of skin. How could he have forgotten this was Hansel’s first time being inside someone? God, that thought curled into his groin, driving his own tension higher, and he clenched his abdomen to keep from coming right then and there.  

“Damn fine. Better than fine. Holy hell, I didn’t know you’d feel like this. Why didn’t we do this before?” Hansel wondered aloud.

And like that, Dean’s thoughts were clear again, Hansel’s words so good and hot and frickin’ awesome. “You going to stay there or are we still doing this thing?” Dean asked, and even he could hear the good humor back in his voice.

“Shut up and let me enjoy this,” Hansel absently smacked Dean on one cheek; the sting shot right into Dean’s cock and he didn’t, absolutely did not whimper just a little bit at the feeling. “Oh, we are so going to explore that little kink later.” Groaning, Hansel pulled out, leaving just his sensitive head inside before he pushed back, a smoother motion this time. Experimenting, Hansel tried different ways to move, shallow thrusts, all the way out, one long stroke, and small increments; he changed angles, shifting his hold, putting his hands down on the metal for balance, holding tight to Dean’s hips, pulling Dean up until they were both almost standing. Dean let it go on for as long as he could stand it.

“You are going to fucking kill me,” he finally complained, words chased by a cry as Hansel found a good purchase and slammed in with one hard thrust. “Stop teasing.”

“Pretty demanding bottom,” Hansel groused, but he obviously agreed with Dean because he angled their bodies over the hood, one arm holding Dean’s back to his chest and picked up the pace, steady thrusts that used up their earlier adrenaline, sweat covering their bodies again. Reaching down, he wrapped his still slicked hand around Dean’s cock and began to work it up and down.

“Yes, damn, that’s it. Harder,” Dean groaned the words, his mouth keeping up a running litany of begging alternating with demands. The shiny wax of the car acted as a mirror and he could see them together, the bruises already forming on his skin, the way Hansel’s eyes rolled closed as he got ready to come.

“Dean, so hot, so tight, so good, so, so …. So damn sweet,” Hansel was saying against the hot skin of Dean’s back; Dean’s hand joined Hansel’s as his hips stuttered, orgasm building. With two last thrusts, Hansel buried himself as deep as he could and came in waves; with a groan of release, Dean came, dropping his head back onto Hansel’s shoulder as he closed his eyes and rode it through.

“We are doing that again, I just want to say.” Hansel pulled out and rolled off of Dean, flopping down on his back on the hood, letting his knees hang over the edge. He looked completely debauched, pants bunched on his thighs, chest still heaving with exertion. A ring of dark spots wove around his collarbone and Dean blanched as he realized those were bruises from his hands.

“Dude, I don’t know what came over me, I got so angry.”  He reached down and lightly touched his thumb to one of the largest ovals. It was a perfect fit.

“Spell, I think. That last one was weaving it as I killed her. Seen it before – make people turn, tear each other to bits. I don’t think she finished it though; it was too easy to break.” Hansel gave Dean a lopsided grin. “Figured it out about the time you offered to bend me over.”

“Wait, so what was that? Fuck therapy?” Dean raised an eyebrow at the rather unorthodox strategy, actually pretty impressed.

“Just ‘cause I haven’t done it doesn’t mean I don’t know about angry sex and its therapeutic benefits.” He got up and started to pull himself back together.

“Okay, so now I can officially say that fucking me broke a witch’s spell? Hot damn. Sam’s never going to believe it.”

They kept baby wipes under the seat of the Impala – the same place the first aid kit was when it wasn’t on the floorboard where anyone could see it – and they used them to clean up as much as they could. What they really needed was a shower, but they’d lost time to the, um, therapy, so they made do. Hansel gave Dean his shirt – with the belt, scabbard and chainmail, Dean could still pull off the look even if the fit was a little too snug – and Hansel went sleeveless in just his vest, the long coat now marred by circular marks across the back. As they got in the car, Dean’s phone rang and he knew it was Sam checking in; they should have already touched base with his brother.

“Hey, Sammy, what did you find out?” Dean turned on the speaker so Hansel could hear.

“Sam found out quite a few interesting things,” Cassandra answered. “In fact, he’s rather anxious for you to join him so he can share his discoveries.”

“If you hurt my brother, bitch, I’ll ….” Dean started.

“Oh, not yet. Consider this my invitation to tonight’s little party. I’ll be sending you some GPS coordinates in a bit so you can find the place. We’ll be all ready by then.”

“We’re going to kill you, Cassandra.” Hansel’s voice was clear and steady. “That’s a promise.” 

“Oh, baby, don’t make promises you can’t keep. My little Hansel. How we’ve missed you.” She laughed.  “Haven’t we, dear?”

“Hansel, don’t you dare come here …” the familiar voice was cut off too quickly.

“Gretel?” Hansel asked, incredulous.

“I do look forward to seeing the reunion,” Cassandra purred.  “Such love and devotion between siblings. Two sets! Imagine that.”

“Dean!  We’re the …” the sound of fist hitting flesh ended Sam’s attempt to get a message through.

“Sam!” Dean called.

“Sorry, boys. We’re done talking. Got to get ready for the big date. See you soon.” She hung up, leaving both of them staring at the phone.

“She’s got Gretel and Sam,” Hansel said, loading the shotgun with shells.

“Bitch is going to pay,” Dean growled. He took the pistol from the glove compartment and laid on the seat in full view as he started the car and spun out on the gravel driveway in his haste to get back to town.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is on and neither Dean nor Cassandra see the last twist coming.
> 
> Warning: graphic violence and witch killing. Proceed with caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ended up breaking this up into two parts because the chapter got so long.

“Told you so,” were the first words Sam said to Gretel when Dean and Hansel walked into the circle of firelight, and Dean had to laugh out loud at his brother’s cockiness. Granted, the two of them swaggered right into gathering of witches, shotguns in their hands, machetes, crossbows and a fair assortment of weaponry arrayed around their bodies. Hansel had that damn sexy coat on and Dean had kept the chainmail and the sword, a nice touch he thought. So, maybe, a little attitude was called for.

“Well, well, they were dumb enough to come alone after all,” Cassandra looked at them, slightly surprised. “You know you’re outnumbered? And yet here you are. Ah, the love of family. Such a weakness among humans.”

Hansel simply ignored the witch and walked over to where Sam and Gretel were tied up to thick posts of a wooden fence _._ “Looks like you’ve tried to escape,” he said with a smile as he examined his sister’s face; her lip was bloody and a large purple and red bruise covered part of her forehead.  Leaning in, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, and Dean could see that she’d gotten the same good looks as her brother, all dark-haired and dark-eyed beauty.

“Every damn day. Killed four of them along the way,” she returned, good humor evident in her voice.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean stopped next to his brother, hand under Sam’s chin, tilting his head up to look at the gash just below his hairline. “They mess up your hair?”

“Lovely, Dean. I assume your plan is just to walk in and kill everything?” Sam huffed in exasperation.

“Yep. Candy Boy was down with it,” Dean grinned and winked at Gretel, whose eyes widened at the pet name.

“I’m not going to ask,” she said, shaking her head at the two men’s antics, but she definitely continued watching Dean.

It was a conversation they might have had over dinner or drinks, not in the center of a clearing on a civil war battlefield surrounded by witches.  But Dean always felt a sassy mouth was his trademark and what better time to shine than when a massive magical ritual was about to go down?  Standing by Sam, he could survey the area; a large fire was burning in a pit, and at least 20 people milled around. For the world, except for the captives, it looked like nothing more than a friendly bonfire; food tables were filled with pulled pork bbq, potato salad, a ton of casseroles, and a couple kegs of beer that were freely pouring into red Solo cups.  Marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers sat on a table closer to the fire; yep, after they sliced and diced their sacrifices, they planned to make s’mores.  It took a minute for Dean to realize the children were being kept in the back of a black Suburban in the parking area, tied up, heads lolling to the side, knocked out.

“Looks like a great party!” Dean shifted his stance, cocking the shotgun. “Free the kids, my brother and Gretel, and we’ll let you live to enjoy it.”

“Now what the hell do you think the two of you are going to do?” Cassandra laughed.

“We can take out quite a few of you first.” Hansel’s crossbow was at the ready.

“Oh, go ahead. What are a few witches in the grand scheme of things?” She was completely unperturbed.

“Mistress,” Roy Montgomery ambled up, head bowed as he approached. “If I may?”

“What is it now? Is Brittany still bitching about the choice of caterers?” Cassandra snapped at the heavy set man.

“There are those questioning the timing; Holson still says that words translate as ‘nigh upon’ midnight and Robert says it means ‘just past.’ We’re only 20 minutes away from midnight and they’re getting antsy.” Roy turned to Dean. “Ah, Fredrick … or should I say Dean? What a bad boy you were! I would never have hurt little Hansel. I was just so excited to see he was there.” The smile he gave them blasted past the borders of creepy and went right into insane.

“Okay, bub. Whatever,” Dean rolled his eyes at Hansel. Yeah, no, Roy had been drooling over the hunter; he probably just didn’t want Cassandra to know that.

“Roy. Please announce that the final three are ready and send me Holson, Richards, and Bridges to help get them arranged.”  She dismissed him casually. “We’ll start at the stroke of midnight. Not a second sooner or later.”

“You know your numbers are off, right? Those three make 8.” Dean nodded to drugged kids.

A startled laugh fell out of her lips, and she smiled, honestly amused by Dean’s words. “You really are as dumb as you look, aren’t you? Too bad because I have a weak spot for dumb pretty boys like you.”

“Dean, I tried to tell you,” Sam said in his ‘you-are-a-moron-sometimes’ tone. “We’re the last three sacrifices. You, me and Gretel. Children of enemies, dude.”

“But … we’re not kids?” He lamely asked; he’d completely missed the implications of that.

“Age doesn’t matter; that’s why I could use that poor homeless veteran down in Texas. Nobody even noticed. We just prefer little kids; they cry so prettily when they beg. Now you boys will lay your weapons down and be good little white hats, and I’ll leave those kids fast asleep through the whole thing. Resist, and I will wake those kids up, and you can listen to their screams as we carve into them. You can save them a lot of pain.”

“You’re going to kill us all anyway. I’d rather go down shooting.” Hansel nodded in agreement with Dean.

“Boys, boys. That was a moot question.” With one motion of her hand, Dean and Hansel slammed backwards into the fence, the heavy wooden rails knocking the breath out of them. Dean kept his hold on the shotgun, and he tried to aim, but the weapon was wrenched out of his hands, flying to the side. “Tie that one with the other two. Hansel gets a place of honor.”

He couldn’t fight, couldn’t raise his arms, and to make things worse, one of the men helping tie him up was the sexy blacksmith from the faire. “Damn, man, I thought we had a connection, chemistry,” Dean complained as the blonde tightened the rope around his hands.

“You aren’t half as cute as you think you are,” the man said, but he was smiling as he searched Dean for weapons, taking his time and palming Dean’s cock intentionally. “But I’ll admit it’s too bad you’ll be knife bait soon. I’d have enjoyed tying you up in a completely different way.”

“Well, maybe it’s not too late to talk about?” Dean dropped his voice, hoping to charm his way out of this.

“Oh, hell, no. I’m terrified of the bitch, and I like my balls right where they are. No lay is worth pissing her off.” He shook his head as he took the knife from Dean’s boot, shooting a scared glance Cassandra’s way.

They dragged Hansel closer to the fire, taking his coat and vest, leaving his chest bare before tying him spread eagle on stakes driven into the ground, his back arched upon a large rock. Striding over, Cassandra called out in a ringing voice: “The time is finally upon us! Tonight, we make ourselves invincible from our enemies. First, we begin with the Key!” Drawing a knife, she drew the sharp silver tip along Hansel’s rib, leaving a ribbon of red for her to trace a finger through, scooping up the blood and painting two stripes along her cheekbones.  Another slice and she collected the thick red liquid in a vial; a large wooden bowl sat on a nearby picnic table, and she added the blood to the ingredients inside.

“If my brother gets hurt, I’m going to be supremely pissed,” Gretel hissed at Dean and Sam.

“Trust me on this,” Dean whispered back. “Spells are fickle things. Get one part wrong and you lose control over them.”

“Wrong? You don’t understand. Hansel’s the ….” Her eyes widened at Dean’s smirk; she glanced at Sam for confirmation, and he gave a tiny nod as he rolled his eyes. Dean watched for her reaction when the truth set in; he probably wouldn't like finding out his little brother had been well and truly deflowered in the last day or so, depending upon the situation, and this was one weird scenario, he had to admit. She closed her eyes, body shaking slightly, and he realized she was laughing quietly; when she finally looked back at him, and her eyes sparkled. “Well, damn, when this is over, you and I have to have the talk.”

“Talk?” Dean was confused. She seemed to be handling the news well.

“The ‘you hurt my brother, and I’ll kill you’ talk, Dean,” Sam explained.

“Oh, that talk. Don’t worry. Candy Boy can take care of himself from what I’ve seen.” 

A murmur of the crowd drew their attention; Cassandra held the bowl aloft, her hands beginning to glow as she chanted:

Τ είναι αλήθεια,« είναι βέβαιο t?

Άνθρωπος αν και διατηρεί νεκρούς

Μέρος του εαυτού του:

το μυαλό παραμένει αθάνατο

With each word, the breeze whipped up a little more; by the last line, small whirlwinds danced around the witch, circling Hansel, making it difficult to see. Some of the others began to fall to their knees, hands held high in supplication, swaying to an unheard beat.

“Greek?” Gretel muttered. “That was Euripides I think.”

“Homer,” Sam calmly replied.  God, they’d seen so much that this was getting to be old hat.

“Oh, you cannot know that!” Dean just knew his brother was shitting him. How the hell could he identify the specific author?

“I read, Dean,” Sam shot back.

“Get ready,” Dean warned.

“We beseech you, defeat our enemies, make us strong, let only the immortal remain!”  Cassandra shouted and flung the contents of the bowl into the fire.

All three of them closed their eyes and ducked their heads just before the explosion; Dean hadn’t seen a blast that powerful since the last time he watched _Mythbusters_. Flame geysered upward and spewed out, sending a blanket of glowing sparks as far as the edge of the trees, heavy clusters landing and igniting clothing and table cloths. Screams broke out; if there was one thing witches really hated, it was burning – and the coven went up like a tinderbox, going from soft skin to crackling black crisp with agonizing shrieks. Cassandra’s howls overrode the others as her hair combusted, the long blonde locks gone in seconds, a halo of orange/red wreathing her head.

“Hansel!” Gretel called; he was right in the blast radius. The grass smoked around the rock; smoldering cinders were smacking into his leather vest, little holes with red edges developing. With a strong pull, Gretel yanked her hands free and bent to untie her feet. Sam was struggling with his ropes, using the edge of the square post to cut through the heavy hemp just as Gretel had. Soon as she was free, she stopped by where the witches had piled the weapons they’d confiscated earlier, tossing a knife to Sam and taking the crossbow for herself. In a few seconds, both Sam and Dean were free, grabbing shotguns and pistols and knives. Dean took the sword and headed right into the midst of the free-for-all, taking the head of the first witch he came near, a woman who would look at home in a knitting circle rather than a sacrificial rite except for the lightning that danced through her fingertips. The two Winchesters waded through the scattered and confused coven, killing most without any resistance. Gretel headed for her brother, fighting her way towards him. Cinders covered Dean’s shirt and he yanked it off in one pull, tossing it aside; Sam lost his outer coat before things settled down, but none of them got even so much as a red mark from fire on their skin.  The witches, blazing like torches, fell right and left beneath their onslaught; a few fought back, but that only made the battle more interesting and, if Dean would admit it, more fun. Not that he enjoyed killing, not really, but ending a few witches was definitely a perk of the job. 

“Son of a bitch!” Roy Montgomery came out of nowhere, hands raised, and clothing on fire. Dean felt the spell take hold, phantom hands closing around his neck, cutting off his air and dropping him to his knees. His sword fell to the ground as he tried to alleviate the pressure, fingers scrabbling at his neck, but the spell was merciless, pressing against his throat. Then Hansel was there, scooping up the hilt of the weapon and with one strong swing, impaling the witch, pushing him backward where he fell as he combusted.

“You okay?” he helped Dean up, hand under his arm as he steadied him. At Dean’s nod, Hansel gave him a knowing smile. “Don’t worry; you can pay me back later.”

“That is quite enough.” The voice rolled over them, power pouring into the air around them, and Dean felt tired, the gun in his waistband weighing him down, the ache in his windpipe suddenly too much. Cassandra was beautiful no longer. Skin a quilt of black and red patches, hair gone, glamor wiped away from her face; she was an image from a horror movie, smoke rising from her misshapen body. No illusion any longer, the darkness of her soul was bared to the light of the flaming corpses around her.

“Wow, if I were you, I’d fire whoever suggested that make over.” Dean just opened his mouth and out rolled that terrible pun.

 “I am done playing with you,” the witch replied.

“Tell us how to get back to our time,” Gretel demanded.

“There is no ‘back’ for you. The spell only sends people forward in time. Everyone knows that time travel into the past is a scientific impossibility!” Cassandra laughed at her before she turned and pointed at Sam. “You. Explain now.”

Sam struggled to not answer; Dean could see the inner battle on his face, but she was too strong. “The ingredients for the spell ...”

“They were perfect! I made sure myself.”  Her eyes flicked between them all, catching the interplay between brothers, the amused look between brother and sister. “Everything has been in my possession, untouched and ….” Her clawed grabbed the buckle on Hansel’s vest and hauled him forward, bringing them face to face. “No. You’ve not been near a woman. I made sure of that.”

“No women. You’re right about that.” Hansel calmly agreed, but he couldn’t keep from grinning at such a simple thing being her downfall. “But I do thank you for throwing me into the Winchester’s path. This age is much more open about sex, isn’t it?”

“No. No, no, no!” Her temper flared and green lighting danced up her hands. As her anger grew, Dean felt her hold on him loosen, and he slid his hand slowly back to grab the hilt of the gun. “I won’t stand for it.”

“Well, sweetheart, you don’t have to stand for it at all. There’s a bed, the hood of a car …” Dean drawled, enjoying the way she blazed even brighter, all her power focused on her hate. When she blew, it was going to be bad, but now they had a chance if they worked together.

“SHUT UP.” Not just words, this was a command, aimed at Dean. His lips moved, but no sound came out as he tried to reply. Lashing out, her energy rained over Hansel, sparking along his forearm, rolling up to his shoulder. “Burn, damn you.”

Dean might not be able to speak, but he could shoot; he emptied what was left of the clip into Cassandra, the force driving her backwards. In her current state, she was more vulnerable, but she was still very old; a few bullets wouldn’t kill her but would buy them precious seconds of time. Hansel broke her hold and lunged, but she dodged, throwing more green fire at Dean. Two crossbow bolts struck, one in her throat, another in her chest. Sam added a head shot, and Hansel gave the final stroke that assured she was dead.

“Back up!” Hansel shouted, and they fled for cover as the spell’s energy discharged, jumping to the closest surfaces, charring anything it touched. It took a full two minutes before her body stilled; Dean stuck his head out from behind a leaking keg.

“I thought that bitch would never die,” he complained, pulling himself up; there was a stack of cups that somehow survived, so he filled one up from the slow leak, taking a long drink. “Damn fireproof ward makes me thirsty.”

“That was the touch,” Sam rubbed at his chin where Dean’s fingers had brushed him earlier. “It stings a little.”

“One of our old tricks,” Gretel said; she was wearing leather, still dressed in clothes from her time. She looked at Hansel with pride and cuffed him on the shoulder as she passed. “You have been eating well? You know how you get if you don’t have regular meals.”

“Good god, Gretel, I’m quite capable of looking out for myself.” Hansel pushed her away, but he was smiling at her; this was obviously a family thing between them.

“We fed him, don’t worry.” Dean laughed, even as he was making himself a sandwich; at Sam’s look, he shrugged his shoulders and tossed another bun to Hansel. “What? It’s just going to go to waste and I worked up an appetite.”

“We need to get those kids home and clean up here,” Sam said, “but I don’t imagine a quick sandwich would hurt anything.”

“Then we find a way home,” Gretel added, snagging another cup of beer.

Dean lifted his eyebrow, silently asking Hansel what he wanted; Hansel replied with his ‘she’s my sister, what do you want me to do about it’ shrug. And, yeah, Dean could definitely read Hansel’s looks. Wasn’t that a kicker?

“Then we start looking for a way to get you home,” Dean agreed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The greek is from Homer and translates as this:  
> ’T is true, ’t is certain; man though dead retains  
> Part of himself: the immortal mind remains.  
> The Iliad  
> Book 23


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sleepy sex and a nest of vamps. What better way to end the story?

Dean woke up slowly, the blinds keeping most of the early morning sunlight at bay; a warm weight lay against him, arm draped across his stomach, breath grazing his neck. A very insistent erection rested snuggly along his hip bone; Hansel was as bad as he was at being ready to go first thing. The man had an appetite to rival Dean’s; Bobby had laid the law down after the first week, putting all areas of the house and grounds off limits to sex except for Dean’s bedroom (with the door shut), the bathroom (door shut AND locked), and the Impala (out of sight of the house). With Gretel sleeping in the other guest room and Sam bunking on the couch, the place was full to bursting and Dean grudgingly agreed with the restrictions, just to keep the peace. Didn’t mean he hadn’t talked Hansel into trying a few unusual places when the others were gone, but the man was fairly henpecked … or sister-pecked? … so when Gretel had raised an eyebrow, he’d fallen right in line.

Fortunately, Dean had shut the door last night when he’d tumbled into bed, a few beers shy of being really drunk, intent on debauching the sleeping resident only to find that Hansel was awake and did most of the plundering instead. Not that Dean minded being thoroughly ravaged; no, indeed, he was perfectly happy with the outcome. It had been a while before either of them had fallen asleep, thus the late hour of the morning. Now, Dean had a different kind of wakeup call in mind; he turned his head and let his eyes roam down the naked back, the curve of the mighty fine ass. Hansel’s face was angled his way, cheek smashed into the pillow, hair spiky and chasing in all directions. Reaching his free arm out for the lube, Dean squeezed some into the hollow of Hansel’s back; he snorted a little and wiggled, succeeding in making his cock even harder as he sleepily rutted against Dean’s hip bone. Dragging his fingers through the gel, Dean parted his own legs, shifting Hansel over a little, and ran his fingers over his stirring cock, slicking it up with a few languid strokes before he delved further to circle the tight muscle. Angling his hips up, he eased the tip of the first finger in, pushing through the burn of the stretch. Another slow move and Hansel’s balls rested on Dean’s thigh, the friction of Dean’s movements causing Hansel to mutter in his sleep, hand absently clutching at Dean’s waist.

It wasn’t the first time Dean had opened himself up, but he’d usually been alone then; watching for Hansel to surface and become aware of what he was doing was much more intimate and erotic. As he worked each finger in, he didn’t try to stop the little moans that he made, the harsh sound of his own breath, the little gasps. Keeping his eyes on Hansel’s face, he focused on the friction of their bodies rubbing together, knew the moment when Hansel went from boneless sleep to half awake, felt his hand began to creep down to Dean’s slick cock, the first tentative brush of fingers over the leaking head, the whisper of kisses burying in his neck. Three in and turning, he hit that spot and jumped, giving a husky cry as pleasure pulsed through him, and Hansel’s eyes opened.

“Damn, that is so fucking hot,” he muttered, levering himself up, gaze scorching as he watched Dean’s hand moving, his own languidly brushing along the underside of Dean’s cock. Back up to Dean’s face, he focused on the parted mouth, Dean’s tongue running along his teeth between groans. With a sensual smile, he brought his mouth down to Dean’s, swallowing all the blissed out noises and causing more of his own. His tongue danced with Dean’s, in time with his hand on Dean’s cock, a lazy kind of waltz with no hurry to finish.  Dean could have stayed that way, fingers inside himself, Hansel’s hand pumping him and tongues tangled, and, for a while, they did, just enjoying their bodies and the dreamy sensation as tensions coiled, unhurried and effortlessly. When he knew they were ready, Dean flipped Hansel over onto his back, green eyes meeting blue-grey ones as he open a condom packet and rolled it down over Hansel’s so far untouched – and definitely aching -- cock. Positioning himself, Dean straddled Hansel and, using his hand as a guide, lowered himself down slowly, taking a long time to loosen up even more; Dean savored the way Hansel’s eyes rolled back, how his hands dug into Dean’s thighs, each experience still so new. It was the best aphrodisiac Dean had ever found, watching his Candy Boy fly apart.

“Fuck, Dean,” Hansel moaned, biting his lip, a clear tell that he wasn’t going to last long.

“That’s the idea. A slow and easy morning ride. I get to be on top and you get to be inside. Best of all worlds.” Dean sat up as he moved, rising on his knees and sinking back down, a little further each time, holding Hansel still, doing all the work, deeper and deeper until Hansel’s cock slid against Dean’s prostate, and his head fell back at the sensation.  He kept going until Hansel completely filled him, hard and hot and so damn good that he couldn’t help but groan his name, fall forward onto his hand and start truly fucking him in earnest. Hansel growled when Dean’s face came within reach, yanking him down into a demanding kiss as hips met hips, up from the bed to slam into Dean pressing back down, over and over again. At some point, Hansel’s hands moved to Dean’s ass, spreading him further apart and taking control, thrusting with abandon as Dean cried out his own orgasm, spurting between their chests, letting Hansel’s tongue take the sound of his whimpers and swallow them whole.  Riding out Hansel’s need, Dean nipped at Hansel’s lip, sucking it in as the other man pulsed a few more times and then came inside of him.

“Damn. Slow and easy don’t seem to be in our vocabulary.” Hansel laughed as Dean rolled off of him, flopping onto his back. “I do like riding though … or being ridden, I guess.”

“Hey, don’t get used to it. I’m thinking, giving me 20 or 30 minutes, and I’ll have you up against the wall in the shower, begging …” Dean said, still out of breath.

 “I’ll take as much as I can get before …,” Hansel trailed off, not finishing the sentence. They both knew that if they finally found a way, Hansel and Gretel would be gone; they had agreed without agreeing to not talk about it. Well, enough was enough, Dean thought.

“Look, you know that we’re doing all we can, but there’s no guarantees.” Dean lifted up on an elbow. “You might not ever get back.”

“Yeah. Honestly, with Gretel here, there are … things to like about this time. Hot showers. Toilets. Television. Refrigerators. Air conditioning.” Hansel smirked at Dean. “Sexy guys who don’t mind a morning ride. But I know my sister; until we’ve exhausted all options, she won’t be happy with giving up.”

“I’d probably feel the same way,” Dean admitted. “Just know that if you don’t make it back, well, we could certainly use more experienced hunters with all the weird shit that’s been happening lately. Cases are piling up.” Stretching, Dean rolled out of the bed. “Not that I like you or anything. You’re just a pretty good fighter that’s all.  And the fucking is a decent perk, I’ll grant you.”

A pillow hit him squarely in the back. “Decent? Pretty good? I could wipe the floor with your ass in both scenarios.”

Dean looked back and grinned. “Oh, really? Going to have to put your mouth where the action is then, Candy Boy.”

……………………

“A salad? Are you kidding me? Leftover pizza is the lunch of champions,” Dean argued, pulling his plate from the microwave and taking it to the table.

“I’m trying everything at least once,” Hansel replied, forking up a bite of the Caesar salad he and Sam had made. “It’s not bad.”

“Dude. It’s lettuce. No taste and no grease. Man cannot live on rabbit food.”

Gretel tried to focus on the words before her, tiny spiderlike script in medieval German, a 12th century text, but she hadn’t slept much last night and the letters all slid together.  At least she could read it; the spell that had brought them here seemed to give them the ability to understand, read and speak almost any language. They’d tested it out by watching movies in German first, then other languages, and Gretel was happy to know she was still fluent in her native tongue. A bonus was discovering that they could read almost any text, even older ones like the book she was holding. Made researching much easier. She turned her attention back to the page and kept going, determined not to be distracted again.

For the last two months, they’d tried every spell or incantation they could find to no avail. They’d consulted psychics and shamans and libraries full of books, but nothing had panned out so far. Most had agreed that traveling back in time was beyond magical means; they were down to looking for monsters and mythological creatures with powers. Bobby had a lead on a house in London where people routinely disappeared, letters from the past popping up from time to time. Sam was working on a text that suggested angels, honest-to-god archangels, might be able to do it, but no one had seen one of them in two thousand years. At the moment, Gretel was reading about gods and goddesses and their spheres of influence. All in all, the prospects were getting dimmer by the day.

“Hey, I made you a salad. You need to eat.” Sam sat the bowl down on the table, adding a glass of iced tea, a drink Gretel had discovered that she loved. He had on his worried face, and she could see Hansel watching her over his own plate, that familiar look of concern in his eyes.

“Thanks,” she flipped the page and kept reading; the cushions on the couch sank down as Sam sat next to her. It took a few minutes, and Sam clearing his throat, to realize that he was waiting to talk to her. “Sorry, I tend to get a little caught up in things.”

“I noticed,” he said with a smile. He was really very handsome; she’d have to be blind not to see it, given their close proximity lately. The way he relaxed in the seat when he drove the car, his very nice set of abs on display when he didn’t put on a shirt, forgetting she was there – oh yes, she’d noticed. “Look, I have something for you. If the whole going back in time thing doesn’t work out.”

He handed her a large manila envelope, and she shook the contents out onto the open book. Some pieces of paper and plastic with pictures and names. She carded through them – Gretel and Hans Stoker, Gretchen and Herbert Stevenson, Gerda and Harald Straub – certificates of birth, driver’s licenses, all types of documentation.

“Those should stand up to any scrutiny. You’ll be able to get jobs or keep hunting or whatever you want to do.” Sam paused, gauging her reaction. “Just in case.”

Fingers trailed across the pictures, remembering when they’d made them for quick identification, how Bobby had explained the need for the pieces of paper that made them legal and part of this time. She thought of new inventions and electricity, movies and the internet. Vampires and werewolves and ghosts and all the others that preyed on the innocent, creatures she’d never heard of before. So many differences and yet the monsters remained, still taking children and adults and leaving behind trails of blood.

“Oh, no. Eat your green stuff and leave my pepperoni alone,” Dean said to Hansel as he turned back from the fridge, two cold bottles of beer in his hand, one for each of them. Her brother wrinkled his nose and stole whole slice instead.

“And don’t you touch these books with those greasy hands, boys,” Gretel called. Hansel rolled his eyes at her, and she let herself really see him, the lessening of the shadows beneath his eyes, the happiness evident on his face, the ease with which he teased Dean. Carefully folding up the documents, she slowly slid the book off of her lap and onto the floor, leaving it open; reaching over she grabbed her tea and took a sip. “You know, there are a lot of things to recommend this time. Maybe it won’t be a travesty if we never find a way. Seems like there’s lots of witches and other things that need killing here. And I could get used to having a hot bath whenever I wanted.” The corners of Hansel’s mouth turned up in a slight smile, and he gave her his best ‘I really fucking love you, sis’ look.

“Well, speaking of things to kill, I just got a call from Rufus. Seems there may be a big nest of vamps up near Springfield. Got some cattle killing and missing people reported in Dawson and Buffalo. If you think you’re ready, the four of you could probably handle it,” Bobby offered as he walked in from the other room.

Sam looked at Dean who nodded then all eyes turned to Gretel. “I am getting rusty with all this reading and research. A milk run sounds about right.”

“Vamps aren’t easy,” Bobby warned.

“When have we ever taken the easy way out?” Hansel asked his sister; they exchanged looks, sharing the familiar stirring of adrenaline at the thought of getting back in the saddle.

“We’ll leave in an hour, then,” Dean decided, rising from the table. “Let’s get baby packed.”

 Gretel reached down to close the book on the floor, glancing at the biggest words on the page:

_‘A Summoning Spell for Chronos’_

Yeah, she’d have to get back to that later. There were monsters to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> having some fun here, obviously. I would LOVE to see the Weeping Angels and a few Angels go head to head with a god. ;D

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I've been to the PA RenFest a number of times. It's a fun time and run like clockwork by a big committee. Good food too. No witches though ... that I know of.


End file.
